


Tumblr Prompts and Drabbles

by glennjaminhow



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Angst, Babies, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Family, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Parent-Child Relationship, Romance, Sleepy Cuddles, Triplets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-08-15 01:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 170
Words: 94,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8036515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glennjaminhow/pseuds/glennjaminhow
Summary: This is a compilation of works I am posting on Tumblr based off of prompts.





	1. Summer

“You missed a spot,” Leslie says, snickering at her ghostly pale husband, who’s already well on his way to crispy lobster land. She rubs in the leftover sunscreen that he neglected on his cheeks, brushing her fingertips over the stubbly skin.

“I feel nasty,” Ben tells her. “Like a giant grease ball.” At either rate, though, he’s still smiling, and he smells like chlorine and sunshine.

She shrugs. “I think the slickness works for you.”

“Perv.”

She smacks his arm and continues applying sunscreen to his freckly, red shoulders. Once she’s finished, he gently massages some on her smooth neck, but not before nipping at it, and, seriously, is it illegal to jump his bones right here, right now?

“Are you having fun?” she asks, entwining their fingers as they walk back to the lazy river; it’s their favorite activity here. They originally came out to Pawnee’s local water park to check out how Leslie’s new kids program was doing. It had been very well received, and, thus, Yachter Otter was now its official new mascot.

He nods, grinning.

She laughs when he splashes water on her face, and she effectively soaks his sunglasses moments later. He tugs her close, wrapping her up even though they’re floating, kissing her and tucking stray, wet pieces of hair behind her ears. She continues to hold on to him, the motion of the current threatening to split them apart, but that will never happen.

It’s a scorching summer day, and Ben’s toasty like a marshmallow, and his fingers are clammy and wet around hers, and this is just where they’re supposed to be.


	2. Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one word prompt from anonymous. It's from the Break Even AU (future).

She hasn’t seen Ben Wyatt in going on two years.

Not even a single glimpse of him. They've both lived in the same town since 1991. She drives by his house almost daily. She’s spotted his familiar Saturn in the driveway, his big brother on the porch smoking a cigarette every now and then, a message on Facebook from old high school buddies asking if she knows anything new about the case. But she hasn’t visually, actually seen him since two Januarys ago. And, to be honest, she didn’t expect him to look any different.

But he does. 

And her heart still pangs in anticipation any time she’s in the same room as him. Physically unalike or not, there’s so much history built up behind those walls that it’s hard to escape. Hard to not feel like she’s barely breathing, barely holding strong in his presence. Because his hair’s shorter than usual and neatly parted as opposed to its typically endearingly messy state. Because he’s so much smaller than what she remembers him being; his shoulders are too bony looking. Because he’s always had a bit of scruff on his chin, but now he has an actual beard. Because his eyes are dark and bloodshot, and his entire existence screams discomfort, displeasure. 

But it’s not like he should be happy. It’s the day of his father’s funeral. And, as fucked up as she knows Ben’s childhood was, it’s bound to make him upset, less like himself.

Not that he’s been himself in years, though. 

He’s sitting outside on the steps of the funeral home, shoulders hunched and visibly shaking. He’s chewing on the skin around his thumbnail, and she flashes back to all those nights in high school and college where he would pretend not to be nervous about a test or a project or a presentation, and her heart floods with butterflies, and this seriously can’t be happening. Because he’s about to turn thirty-six now, and they’re long past those feelings for each other. 

And it’s weird. It’s strangely weird. Since the incident (which she still doesn’t have a “proper” name for because how could she?), they haven’t spoken much. And now she’s at his dick of a father’s funeral, side by side with him, and it shouldn’t be like this. She should grab his hand or place a comforting pat on his back, but she can’t. He makes very brief eye contact before going back to staring at whatever is so enticing on the concrete below.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” she says quietly. She’s not sorry, not at all after what Steve Wyatt’s put Ben through, but she knows he’s hurting. He’s had a lot of experiences with loss that she hasn’t, but she can relate to this one. She lost her dad at age ten, and, while Robert Knope was the best awesome sauce in the universe, the grief never really totally disappears. 

He shrugs, as if this is something to be nonchalant about. “Thanks.” And his voice is deeper than she remembers. She knows she should’ve been there for him more. She should’ve baked cookies and stayed up all night with him when he needed her. Instead, they both got swept up in the harsh reality that Ben’s with Maggie and Leslie’s with Dave now, and it could never ever ever be the same. Especially not after the incident. Never after the incident.

“How’ve you been?” 

It’s disgustingly gross small talk. For Christ’s sake, she met Ben in during their junior year of high school. 

This. It shouldn’t be like this.

Another shrug. “Okay, I guess. You?”

She wants to ramble on about her amazing job as a member of Pawnee’s City Council while doubling as the Deputy Director of the Parks and Recreation Department, but she doesn’t. Wants to discuss the deep rooted, deep seeded issues she has with a man she barely recognizes as her husband anymore. Wants to make up for insane amounts of lost time. “I’m good.”

Leslie doesn’t mention the incident. How could she? It’s been three years.

Almost four.

Oh shit. Almost four. Four years? His son would be nine near her birthday.

But then he suddenly stands up, brushing off his slacks and clearing his throat. “It was nice seeing you,” he says, but he doesn’t smile. He looks half dead with deep bags beneath his brown eyes. Ben shakes her hand and then heads back into the stifling funeral home. Her heart drops to her toes as she’s collided face first with memories of staying up all night with him at university, starting their careers together, wanting to be with each other more than anyone or anything. 

She should’ve been there. She should’ve been there for him.


	3. Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was another one word prompt from anonymous. It's from the Break Even AU (future; before the idea was even flushed all the way out).

_October 20, 1992_

“Leslie!” her mother calls. She immediately places her chemistry book on the desk, heading out of her bedroom. It’s past seven, and her stomach’s been rumbling for hours, so she hopes it’s dinner. Ooh, waffles. She really hopes her mom made waffles; they aren’t as good as JJ’s, but they’ll do. But, as she descends the stairs, she gets a glimpse at the exhausted, rumpled form of Ben Wyatt with a puffy lip, his hand protectively on Stephanie’s shoulder. “Come on in, you two,” her mom says sweetly.

It’s not a secret. It’s definitely not a secret, but this is supposed to be Stephanie and Ben’s safe haven from their father. They’re not going to talk about it, even if Leslie’s heart hammers into her chest, and she wants desperately to kick Stephen Wyatt straight in the balls. He’d be too drunk to realize it anyway. She shouldn’t think that way, shouldn’t feel that way, but she’s seen her best friend and his younger sister hurt one too many times to care.

Instinctively, Leslie wraps Stephanie up in her arms, and the thirteen year old forms a crushing grip around her. She watches her older brother run his fingers through his matted hair before hugging him as well. Because these visits, unfortunately, aren’t too uncommon, that unheard of. She’s just thankful her mom is so understanding.

“Wanna watch TV?” she asks, trying her best to remain bubbly. Even if Ben doesn’t need the coddling, she used to be a thirteen year old girl, and Stephanie needs an anchor, something to hold on to that doesn’t reek of negativity all the time. She leads them into the living room, and her mom drapes a large quilt over the siblings’ legs. Ben smiles gratefully and says a very quiet “thank you” while Leslie turns on MTV, where the latest episode of “The Grind” plays.

Stephanie curls into Ben, who places his arm over her shoulders. His lip is red and swollen, and there’s a growing bruise on his cheek. Leslie gulps and grabs his hand, mind fluttering. He squeezes it gently before returning his attention to their brand new television set up.

~

_June 4, 1993_

“He’s been like this since yesterday,” Stephanie tells her, gesturing to her brother. Ben’s curled in a ball on his bed facing the wall, wearing his patented, infamous U2 hoodie and sweatpants, and he’s absolutely drenched in sweat. There are no contusions today that she can see, and she palms his forehead; he flinches and coughs and shivers rapidly. He feels like he's on fire.

“Steph, can you go get me a thermometer and a cold washcloth?” she asks softly.

The brunette nods and exits the room. Leslie pulls Ben into her lap, carding her fingers through his hair and stiffening at the heat rolling off him in waves. She’s hot in her tank top and shorts, but he’s bundled up like it’s winter. He wasn’t at summer school yesterday to tutor the third graders he’s immensely good with, so she knew something was wrong.

And she can’t help but get angry. Because their stupid fuck of a father is sprawled out in the recliner downstairs with smells of whiskey wafting through the house; he can’t even be bothered to look out for his sick seventeen year old son. No, Ben doesn’t need anyone to hold his hand, but him being there would be nice. Leslie sighs and wants to scream. Wants to yell at the top of her lungs because Steve Wyatt can’t see what’s in front of his own two eyes because he’s so busy hitting the bottle.

Stephanie returns with the rag. “We don’t have a thermometer,” she says sadly.

Leslie smiles briefly. “That’s okay. We’ll make do with this.”

And they definitely shouldn’t have to, but she lays the cloth on his forehead, and Ben grumbles before settling back down in her arms.

~

_November 11, 1994_

“Oh my God! Are you drunk?” Leslie squeals, hooking her arm around Ben’s.

There’s a healthy amount of beer life in his cup, and he’s smiling wildly at her. “That I am.” Because her Ben’s strict, uptight, and never really lets off any steam, so spying him here, at whatever frat house this is, on a Thursday night causes her stomach to drop. He’s a smidge dopey looking with that shit-eating grin plastered on his face, but it doesn’t stop her from taking the drinkware from his hand and chugging some herself.

“You okay?” she questions.

He’s pale, and his eyes are rimmed red, and he keeps biting his lower lip. The music pumps through her system, and she wants to dance the night away with him, but it’s kind of hard to when her best friend in the galaxy seems to be struggling, mulling through something. And, trust her, she knows Ben extremely well, and this isn’t his usual style.

Ben takes another sip of his beer. “Steph called.”

“What’d she say?”

“California’s fine. She’s havin’ fun,” he slurs.

She smiles. “Well, that’s great, Benji!” She rubs his too bony shoulder thoughtfully. Stephanie left to California to live with their rich ass step aunt or something like that when Ben went to college a year and a half ago. Now, he only talks to her on the phone, and she turns sixteen next month and is probably growing like a weed, and, oh, now she sees the problem. “You miss her?”

He nods sadly. “Mmhmmm.” He’s never been that great with expressing his emotions. He’s her almost nineteen year old worry wart of a best friend; he’s wildly articulate and book smart. Street smart too. But he tends to shut himself down when he’s hurting, even if he’s still taking care of someone else in the process. She saw this often while he was taking care of Stephanie.

Leslie lays her head on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Ben. It’s okay.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, it is okay. Wherever she’s safe is ‘kay with me.”

“We’ll go see her soon. Take a little road trip.”

He nods again, grinning goofily at her.

~

_April 13, 1996_

“You’re not twenty-one yet, Wyatt,” she scolds, pointing at the beer bottle in his left hand.

He shrugs. “Age is just a number.”

She would’ve thought that, with his past, he would steer clear from alcohol. For the last few years, she’s witnessed Ben’s drunk of a father bombard him and hit him and tell him he’s a waste of space. She can’t, even when she’s sober, think of a relative, coherent reason as to why Ben would ever take a sip of something so clearly poisonous.

Wait. Why’s she drinking it then?

“You’re just a number,” she retorts cleverly.

“Hey, good one,” he says, smiling and high fiving her sloppily. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, placing gentle kisses in her hair. She doesn’t object, doesn’t say a word because it’s only for tonight, and they’re tipsy and not thinking straight, and that’s okay.

Of course, it’s not actually okay. Because Leslie’s heart fills to the brim with happiness every additional moment she spends with Ben Wyatt, and it’s ridiculous, but she’s so in love with him.

She can’t be in love with him.

“You’re drunk,” she says carefully. “You’re drunk, and I’m drunk, and we shouldn’t do this.”

But Ben’s lips travel to her neck, and he growls against her skin, and she shivers.

Should. Okay. Should.

Maybe they should do this.


	4. A "You Nearly Died" Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is from the kiss meme prompted by anonymous. It is based off an event that will happen later in the Break Even AU.

_December 3, 1992_

It’s bloody and horrifying, and Leslie’s about three seconds away from tossing her cookies when Ben grabs her clammy hand with his freezing one. Tears stream down his cheeks; he doesn’t try to hide them, doesn’t try to deflect and make the situation better like he’s famous for doing. Her breath catches in her throat, and he buries his overheated face into the crook of her neck as she takes a seat on the edge of the gurney.

Snowflakes. There are snowflakes nestled in his hair, and he’s trembling hard enough to throw all of Pawnee into an earthquake. “Okay, Mr. Wyatt, I’m going to need you to hold still,” a random nurse says nicely, and Ben nods, clasping on to Leslie harder. God. He’s shaking. He’s shaking so badly, and she kisses his hair, whispering sweetly in his ear as if it’ll stop the pain from enveloping his entire body. As if it’ll matter, change anything about the situation.

Then, there’s a nasal cannula placed in his runny nose, and his face is laced with oozing gashes and uncertainty. There’s an additional blanket draped over his leg, the right one that’s bruised and mangled, and she… She can’t. This isn’t happening to Ben. He’s so sweet, caring, kind, gentle, considerate.

And who’s going to look after Steph? Oh God. Where is she even at? Leslie scrubs shaky hands down the sides of her face and tries to keep her composure. Her heart’s thumping straight out of her chest.

This. No. She’s never seen anything like this.

Ben forms a death grip around her hand as doctors tend to his leg. She starts losing feeling, sensation, in her fingers, but she supposes that’s good thing. She has to be there for him. But she also really needs to know where Stephanie is. She’s only fourteen, old enough to know better and take care of herself, but Ben’s going to ask about her eventually.

“Shh… Shh…” Leslie coos softly. It’s a mess. A huge fucking mess. And she has more than half a mind (a full mind, dammit) to kill Steve Wyatt, force him to suffer like he did to Ben. She can’t even look directly at her best friend right now. She’s not sure she’s ever seen anyone so broken. “It’s okay, Ben. It’ll be okay.”

As hard as this is, she’s going to be here for Ben. Because no one deserves it more than him. Her own tears spill over now and land in his hair, and he’s damn near sobbing as another nurse takes his hand. Tells him to calm down as the doctor administers hopefully the most kick ass painkiller in the galaxy.

“Miss,” yet a different nurse says. “We need you to leave now. You can sit in the waiting room. I promise I’ll come get you once we’re done with the x-rays.”

She’s trying to be nice, to do her job, but Leslie face reddens. “Please. No, um, you don’t understand. I have… I need to s-stay with him.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”

“No, I-I,” she stammers.

Maybe she should lie and say that she’s his sister.

But then Ben speaks up from beside her. “’s okay, Les. I’ll be ‘lright.”

His leg. She can’t. How could someone do that to a kid?

Jesus Christ. He’s just a kid. They both are.

“You better come get me once he’s done,” she tells the nurse matter of factly because she’s not playing games tonight. “Please.”

The nurse nods and leads her to the waiting room.

~

It’s, without a doubt, the worst hour and a half of her life.

She manages to get ahold of Stephanie at her friend’s house and tells her to stay put, explains to the parents that her older brother’s been involved in an accident. She calls her own mother; Marlene Knope’s at St. Joseph’s in less than thirty minutes. She wraps around her mom and cries until her eyes are basically useless.

He could’ve died.

Ben seriously could’ve died.

But then, finally, she’s escorted back to the ER, where Ben’s lying on a clean gurney. The instant she reaches him, she encircles him in a monstrous hug, kissing the crap out of him (on the lips and everything), her tongue swirling in his mouth. Her stomach drops to her toes, and he’s a really really really good kisser, but then he groans in pain, and she immediately stops.

“Ben! I’m so sorry! I hope I didn’t-”

He leans forward the best he can and holds her in his arms, rubbing her back lightly, and goosebumps. Just goosebumps. Because his leg still isn’t even in a cast yet, but it’s wrapped in gauze to stop the worst of the bleeding, and he looks shatteringly exhausted.

“Thank you,” he whispers in a broken, quiet voice.

She cards her fingers through his damp, greasy, bloody hair. “Shh. Don’t thank me.”


	5. Kisses Because I Don't Want You to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another kiss meme prompt from emmylovestv. It is a direct continuation of the previous chapter.

_December 15, 1992_

“Uh uh, Wyatt. Stay there,” Leslie scolds for the third time in an hour. Because the dumbass thinks he’s going to walk around without a problem, as if his leg hadn’t been broken in several places less than two weeks ago. As if he hadn’t just been released from the hospital four days prior after three invasive surgeries to mend the shattered bone.

He sinks back into the fluffy pillows, pouting with his bottom lip sticking out. “I don’t want you to go.” His voice is so quiet these days. He’s always been shy and crazily introverted, but it’s much worse since the accident.

It’s been… weird. Kind of a culture shock. They’re very different people, but they fit almost seamlessly together like waffles and whipped cream. And her mom’s letting both Ben and Steph stay here, swearing on her life that neither of the siblings have to go back to that house if they don’t want to.

And definitely not until Ben’s leg heals.

So, Steph’s bunking with her on an air mattress, and he’s downstairs in the guest room, which luckily has a bathroom only feet away from the bed. Because, let’s be honest, he’s usually high on painkillers ninety percent of the time, and he’s immobile enough to cause issues if left alone.

“Hey, I’ll be home with you for three weeks straight after today,” she says soothingly. His eyes are so glassy and bloodshot, and he’s buried beneath a flowery comforter with his casted leg elevated, and she doesn’t want to go to school for a single second. Sure, her sunfish Ann Meredith Perkins is there, as well as her other friends, but there’s no one to make fun of Mrs. Ross’s potato chip collection with her, and there’s no one around to share spicy nachos and a Coke.

He sighs, and his bottom lip quivers, and Leslie can’t. Her nerves are still a bit frazzled, jumbled from seeing him in such an awful state (not that this isn’t awful) in the hospital. She gently slides under the covers, careful not to jar his injury. Mom’s told her that she hears him cry out in his sleep sometimes, and she’ll come in and stroke his hair until his eyes close again. She can’t. She can’t watch him be so sad and broken.

Ben tries to scoot over a little, but he frowns and grumbles in pain. She pushes his damp hair off his forehead, and he’s been a little warmer than usual since last night. She places her head on his chest, and he tucks his chin into her hair. “Please don’t go,” he pleads. “Please.”

It’s just the last day of school before winter break; it’s not like they’re doing anything anyway. She’ll show up, listen to some boring assembly where only the jocks are “allowed” to participate, and go home. Maybe she should ask her mom -

“Leslie, Stephanie, we’re leaving in five minutes!”

She palms his side when she hears him exhale raggedly. His trembly fingers slide through her hair, and this is horrible. It’s so horrible. She doesn’t want to leave, and he doesn’t want her to go, but she can’t exactly skip classes either.

“I swear I’ll come home as soon as school’s over,” she promises, maneuvering herself to where she’s looking at him once again. She makes a mental note of the flushed cheeks and cutely messy hair, and there are deep smudges beneath his dark brown eyes. “Do you want me to bring you anything? A new comic or something?”

“N-No,” he says shakily. “Thank you though.”

And it’s one hell of a thank you because, suddenly, their lips squish together, and Ben’s tongue is in her mouth. And she’s dizzy as she grips at his long sleeved shirt, and his fingers run through her hair. And Ben’s kissing her. Ben Wyatt’s kissing her hard and lovely and soft all at once, and her heart can’t take much more from him. Because he’s smart and handsome and sexy like a wolf, and she wants him in every way imaginable.

“Don’t go,” he repeats lowly, his breath hot on her neck when they pull away.

She places her forehead against his and nods, rubbing her fingers over his cheek. “Okay,” she says. “Okay.”

“Leslie, we’re waiting,” her mom says with a bit of annoyance in her voice, swinging open the door to the guest room. Seriously, she can’t knock? “Come on, love birds. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Break it up.”

The tears swelling in Ben’s eyes vanish almost immediately, and she feels his pulse quicken beneath her touch. Poor Ben’s always been scared, to an extent, of her mother. She smiles before kissing him on the temple, softly getting out of bed. He grabs her hand with his clammy one and pulls her back in for one final peck on the lips.

“See you after school,” he whispers.

Leslie grins. “I already can’t wait.”


	6. Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one word prompt from anonymous. It is also set in the Break Even AU.

_April 2, 1992_

“Well this is-”

“Awkward?” Ben finishes for her, chuckling immediately after. And, yeah, he’s completely and totally naked in front of this girl, a girl (or lady or whatever the politically correct term for a seventeen year old is) he really likes. Of course, also, his stupid penis awakens at the sight of her standing in his doorway in jeans and a sweater, and… yeah.

Leslie makes no moves to turn away, no further acknowledgement that he should put his clothes on. “Your, um, thing… It’s, um, pointing at me,” she says, gesturing toward his package.

Ben shrugs. “He does that around beautiful ladies.” Okay, seriously, that may have made things worse. And only then does he make the effort to put boxers on. He follows with khakis and his REM hoodie, patting his mattress for her to sit down. “The old man let you in?”

She shakes her head, and her cheeks are still flushed pink. It really is awkward, but Ben’s not quite in the mood to stew in it today. He’s happy for once in a long time, and, seriously, his heart feels so much lighter than it usually does; he would rather keep it that way. “Steph,” she answers.

Leslie Knope’s, on normal occasions, the most talkative person he knows. She can chat for hours and hours on end about whales and lemons and gardening and parks (especially parks). She’s cute, bubbly, bright, and Ben can never get past her curly blond hair and gorgeous smile. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “About what you saw.”

At that, she laughs. “No no no. I… Well, I liked it… And that’s kinda what I get for not knocking.”

She liked it? What?

Ben’s not the type of guy who gets “the girl.” Mainly because he’s moved around his entire life thanks to his father and never found a stable group of friends. But five and a half months in the same house is a new record since Mom died, and it’s more than good enough for him. Because he has everything he needs right here in Pawnee, Indiana.

And now things are finally mostly alright. He goes to school, hangs out with Leslie and Andy and Tom and April and Ann and Chris, managing to, for the first time in his life, have some sort of socialization with peers his own age. His dad’s still an asshole, but it’s okay because he stays out of the way for the most part. And Leslie’s here, so he doesn’t have any complaints thus far.

So, naturally, Ben’s lips brush against hers, and her hand grips his fingers, and his brain implodes. Her kiss is electrifying, her skin so soft and silky, and her hair smells of mangos and peaches, and it’s the best scent ever. God. How did he ever get so lucky?

And, yeah, Leslie pushes him back on his mattress and starts doing magical things with her tongue. And, yeah, Ben really really likes it and her and everything at the moment. He feels spinny. Is it spinny in here?

“Seriously, guys?”

He stops making out with pretty pretty Leslie long enough to see his thirteen year old sister standing in the doorway.

“I’ll come back later,” Steph announces, clicking the door shut once again. He really should lock that thing.

Leslie’s mouth is back on his in a split second, and, yeah, maybe this started out awkwardly, but it definitely didn’t end that way.


	7. Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is also a one word prompt from anonymous. Another Break Even AU!

_August 21, 1993_

This isn’t easy, but it’s what’s right.

Steph left for California two nights ago, and now it’s his turn. Because tomorrow he moves into his dorm room at Indiana University, and tomorrow’s the start of his brand new life. Dad’s an ass, Mom’s dead, Henry’s in prison, and Steph’s hundreds of thousands of miles away, and he’s here. It really doesn’t seem possible.

“Okay, Mopey McMoperson, do you wanna help me pack or just sit there?”

But Leslie. Leslie Knope’s his saving grace. She’s an angel sent from whoever is up there, a wonderful, kind, passionate, beautifully gorgeous, goofball of a lady who’s never given up on him. They’ve only known each other for three years, but it’s been the best three years of his life. Yeah, there were obstacles, and he and his sister wound up moving in with the Knope’s last December, but it’s perfect.

He smiles at her, snaking his arms around her waist to pull her back to his front, plopping down on the bed. He kisses her neck, nipping at it and earning a laugh. Her laugh is the sun to Ben; he wouldn’t exist without it. She’s forever giggling about something, cackling over her mom burning the calzones she was attempting to bake for him (which, by the way, still isn’t all that funny to him; he was really looking forward to those) or snickering over his small, but vast film collection.

“It’s so weird,” he whispers against her skin.

Leslie maneuvers herself to where she’s lying on her side, and Ben moves to where he’s facing her. She brushes his hair from his forehead; he gets goosebumps every time she does that. “What’s weird?”

He shrugs. “I dunno… I just honestly never thought this would happen to me.”

“You’re kidding, right? Ben, you got a perfect score on the SAT.”

He nods. “I know. But just…”

“Stop,” Leslie says sweetly. “Don’t overthink this. Not this. You deserve so much more than what the world’s given you.”

“But Steph’s-”

“With family,” she adds. “She’s safe and sound, and you both will finally get some peace.”

“What if-”

“Benjamin, please,” she coaxes, taking his hand and kissing it sweetly. “Please enjoy this. Enjoy something good happening in your life.”

He nods, even though his heart is torn, and his head feels three sizes too big for his skull. Steph’s always been his responsibility. Dad’s always been his responsibility. Now, he’ll be hours away from Pawnee and the only true home he’s ever known.

But Leslie’s here, and he doubts she’s going anywhere any time soon.

“Help me pack? A lot of the clothes that are in here are yours anyway,” she says.

Ben smiles and heads to her massively overflowing closet. And it’s not a typical teenager girl’s closet where it’s just shoes and make up and junk; it’s books galore, maps of the United States, information on every park in Indiana. She’s cute and spunky and adorable, and, yeah, he might be in love with her.

She giggles loudly while she thumbs through their junior yearbook, ogling at a picture of Ben giving two extremely dorky thumbs up for the camera.

Yeah, her laugh seriously is the light of his life.


	8. Things You Said That I Wasn't Meant to Hear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a "things you said" prompt from emmylovestv.

She’s more than half asleep. 

Scratch that.

She’s definitely almost asleep, but Ben’s still awake, hoodie, flannel pajama pants, and all. She can tell because he isn’t snoring, even though it’s past midnight. He’s usually long gone by now, lulled to unconsciousness by her running her fingers through his hair while they participate in their nightly cuddle. Only, on this particular night, they skipped that step altogether and simply laid down because their three beautiful babies are home now, and they’re exhausted.

It was a beautiful arrival, filled with a plethora of gifts for their bundles of joy and a few select family and friends. It’s been two and a half weeks since the triplets arrived, and now they’re finally all home and here in the very same room together. It’s so surreal, and tears swell up in her eyes, and she almost rolls over to talk to Ben about how blessed she is for their newborn triple cherries. Except that plan is foiled by a strangled cry coming from the bassinet beside their bed.

Ben immediately hops up, and she hears his socked feet hit the floor. He’s been diligent about not letting her get up for anything because, yeah, she did have a C-section not too long ago, but it’s been almost three weeks! She can walk without a lot of pain and is pretty much back up to par. Except she does need a nap almost every day, and peeing is still not very fun. 

Leslie shifts to her side, careful to keep her eyes closed when he glances over at her. Ben settles down in a rocking chair with Wesley in his arms. He’s cradling him gently, soothingly, and their son is all wrapped up in his reindeer onesie and light green blanket, their patented who’s who system for their super identical boys. And Ben looks so soft and happy and pleasant sitting there, even though it’s December and almost Christmas, and they’ve got a lot to accomplish in a too short period of time.

It’s so strange. Ben’s always been incredibly kind and tender, but seeing him with their children is purely amazing. He’s going to be an absolutely wonderful, attentive father, one who plays dress up with their daughter and builds models with their boys. One that rolls around on the carpet, allowing cars to be rolled over his skin and toddlers to tug at his hair. One that supports and nurtures them without stifling any of them too much.

“Hi, Wes,” he whispers, and Leslie immediately tenses. Because she’s totally staring at her super hot baby daddy and quickly closes her eyes again. And just listens. “Your mommy and I are so happy you’re home. It’s been really incomplete without you.” Sonia and Stephen left the NICU on the same day, eight long days ago, but Wesley had to stay a bit longer. “But now you’re safe and sound in your bed with your brother and sister, and we’re so thankful you’re here.”

Tears swell up in her eyes once more, and she shuffles the comforter around her face so he doesn’t see the tears, doesn’t know she’s awake.

“I love you, guys. So much.” And she hears the choked sob in his voice, but she looks over and doesn’t see anything. “I wouldn’t have made it through this without your mommy. She’s been so great with all three of you, and I don’t know how she makes it look so easy, especially with you Wes. You’re her last little baby, and you’ll probably hear about that for the rest of your life, but that’s okay.” He keeps rocking and whispering to their son, their teeny tiny son. 

At that, she shifts again, and, this time, Ben’s eyes wander in her direction. Crap on a cracker. And he totally gets up, Wesley still cradled protectively in his arms. “Honey?” he questions, perching on the edge of the mattress. “What’re you doing up? Are you in pain? The babies don’t need to be fed for another hour.”

She shakes her head, swiping her fingers beneath her eyes. “I’m fine,” she says, her voice breaking. “I was just listening to you talk to Wes.”

He grins and looks at the small bundle. 

“You’re a great Dad, Ben,” she says softly, so softly she’s not even sure he hears her.

But he must because he leans over tentatively and kisses her forehead.

“Get some rest, babydoll.”


	9. Things You Said When You Were Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a "things you said" prompt from sakurablossomstorm-blog.

Sonia, his beautiful baby daughter, catches the horrendous cold first. His precious sweetheart, his Sonny-Bug, sniffles and cries and only relaxes when he’s holding her. He doesn’t know why, but he can’t stand his little girl hurting, especially since she’s barely two months old. Ben rocks her and cradles her, and she sleeps through the night on his chest. Leslie pumps her milk into a bottle so he can feed her while she feeds the boys.

Of course, according to triplet law, once one baby gets sick, they all get sick. Stephen’s feverish and very sleepy two days later, barely able to stay awake long enough to get some grub in his belly before cuddling up in his bassinet. And, the next morning, Wesley’s coughing and cranky, and, super suddenly, Ben and Leslie find themselves in a brand new, horrifying situation.

All three of their triple cherries don’t feel well. All three of them are moody and rest at weird times and aren’t all that hungry. His wife stays up way later than she should, pumping and preparing dinner as he holds the babies at once, snuggled close with his sons and daughter and letting their sweet scent and bald heads guide him into a peaceful oblivion.

Well, only for a split second of course.

Because Leslie’s re-heated leftover lasagna for the third night in a row when Stephen spits up. Oh wait. Nope. Vomits. Because that’s definitely not spit up. It runs down his chin and into his onesie, and some of it lands on Sonia before it spills on to Ben’s chest. 

“Uh, honey,” he says, trying not to sound too frantic. He’s cradling the triplets and can’t walk with all of them without it being a major hazard, and Stephen’s throwing up and crying, which sends Sonia and Wesley into a panic since their brother’s screaming bloody murder. “I really need your help in here.”

“What’s going –“ And the instant she walks into the living room to help, Wesley decides it’s his turn to toss his breast-milked cookies too. “Oh my God,” he hears his wife whisper, but she doesn’t fret. But Ben’s heart is beating out of its chest, and, shit, his boys are doing this awful wail he’s never ever heard before, and how can two babies puke at the same time? Did Wes smell it or something? Was it a gag reflex? What if Sonia does it next?

Leslie takes Sonia from him, and he immediately, carefully gets up with Stephen and Wesley. They both head to upstairs, and Ben rocks his sons as he walks, cooing in their ears and hoping to bring some form of relief to his exhausted, sick babies. He feels like he’s melting, like he’s splitting into a million different pieces because he’s never experienced something so dreadfully awful as this. He’s broken bones and been screamed at and had his heart shattered and yada yada yada, but none of those things compare to this. Not even close.

His wife places Sonia on the changing table beside Wesley and Stephen. “I’m gonna go run a bath.”

Ben nods and gets to work on getting all three of them undressed and ready. He kisses each forehead and each little finger and toe. “You’ll feel better soon, guys. I’m sorry you’re all so sick, but Mommy and Daddy are going to try to help.”

And, an hour later, they have medicated, diapered, freshly washed babies nuzzled together on their big bed. Leslie holds the boys, while Sonia sleeps soundly on Ben’s chest.

~

The next day isn’t any better, mainly because whatever they have seems to have spread to both of them. Leslie’s pumping milk while fighting off a disastrously runny nose; she has to stop every few seconds just to wipe her nose, and Ben can’t even look in her direction without frowning. She should never feel like this. And his babies shouldn’t either. 

He stifles his coughs the best he can with two babies curled on his chest, struggling infinity not to wake either of them. Stephen’s back in the bassinet because that seems to be where he’s most comfortable at the moment, but Wesley and Sonia just need extra cuddles with Daddy. Stevie’s definitely the most independent of the three right now, while So-So is the loudest and most exuberant and Wesley’s snuggly, sweet, and shy. 

“Finished,” Leslie murmurs quietly, hoarsely, and all he wants to do is wrap his wife up in his arms and nap with her. She goes to stand up, putting a hand to her forehead, and Ben almost jumps up, almost, but he doesn’t, can’t, because of the babies. 

“Are you okay?” And, yes, it’s frantic again. 

She nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Dizzy.”

Leslie moves to head to the bed, but her foot collides with the bassinet instead, and it sends Stephen into a full on crying attack. Because he’s two months old as of today and is so sick, and he’s scared, and this seriously can’t get any worse.

But, clearly, it can.

Because, soon, Wesley and Sonia are screaming too, and Ben coughs more, trying to sooth them. His wife picks up their other son and carries him over to the bed, instantly sitting down with her eyes swelled with tears. “Honey?” he questions, but he can’t do anything about anything because his head’s fuzzy and full of NyQuil, and there’s three overly exhausted babies in close proximity, and he wants to take care of all four of them at the same time, but he can’t. “Les?”

“I feel so bad,” she says nasally, tearfully. “They’re too young to feel like this.”

He nods, and he understands because he totally feels the same way right now. This sucks. “C’mere,” he tells her, patting the mattress. The babies are still sobbing, but Sonia’s starting to get tuckered out. Leslie scoots to where their shoulders touch, and he rubs both babies’ backs, planting a kiss on each bald head, including Stephen’s. “I love you.”

And, at that, Stephen and Wesley begin to quiet down. 

She smiles, but there are still tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. Ben leans over to kiss each and every one of them. “I love you too.”

Because this seriously sucks, but it’s nothing the two of them can’t handle.


	10. Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one word prompt from sakurablossomstorm-blog.

“That’s Wes.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s Stephen,” Leslie says. “See, he even has the little birthmark on his belly.” She points at it before blowing a raspberry on the baby’s cute tummy.

Ben rubs his forehead. “I thought Wes had the birthmark on his stomach?”

“Wait. Is that Wes?”

Oh no.

Good lord, this can’t be happening.

How did they not only end up with triplets, but with identical sons as well? 

They had given their baby cherries a bath, wrapping each one up in a different animal themed towel. Ben was well on his way to dressing who he thought was Wesley in a green onesie when Leslie told him he was putting Stephen in the wrong color. All three infants had been home for almost a week now, and the color coding system had never failed them. Yet.

Now, he has absolutely no idea if the baby in his arms is Stephen or Wesley, and it’s a pretty big deal. They’re newborns, so it’s not like they have a ton of personality. Wesley is typically a much quieter baby than Stephen, but the baby he thought was Stephen had screamed all the way through bath time, and now he’s really fucking confused. 

“Well, here,” Leslie says. “I’ll make this easy. He’s Wes, and he’s Stevie.”

“What? No. We can’t do that. What if it’s the wrong baby?”

“But what if it isn’t?”

He sighs. “Les, we can’t just choose who’s who every time we lose track. It’ll confuse them. Oh God, what if we screw it up again? We can’t let them walk around and not know who they are. Can you image Stephen as Wes? No. It wouldn’t work.”

Leslie rubs his shoulder with her free hand. “Shh. Honey, it’s okay. That’s not going to happen. Here, put the babies down.”

He follows her instructions, placing which ever baby this is on their bed, He quickly covers them both with a blanket because it’s January and freezing, and neither of them are wearing anything but a diaper until they figure this out. Ben never imagined he would be an incompetent parent, but, wow, he’s feeling it today. Stellar parenting. He doesn’t even know which kid is which. 

What kind of father can’t tell his boys apart?

Leslie comes back with her three baby books in tow: One for Stephen, one for Wesley, and one to capture their brotherly bonding. She flips through pages, and he searches for the faint birthmark on one of his son’s stomachs. “Wait. Stop. There it is. Which book is this?”

His wife goes back to the front, where the beautiful name Wesley Benjamin Knope-Wyatt is scrawled in her familiar, comforting handwriting. He immediately breathes out a massive sigh of relief and picks up the sleepy baby with a birthmark on his belly. His Wesley. He actually feels faint, but it’s so much better than not knowing and screwing up their boys for life.

At least they know which baby is Sonia.


	11. Content

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another one word prompt from sakurablossomstorm-blog.

“Look who’s my big man,” she hears Ben say, watching as he tickles Stephen with his free hand. The baby cackles and keeps crawling, obviously not distracted by his father or his other two siblings. He’s Stephen the Mischievous, the first of the triplets to crawl and the first to always cause trouble. 

Their family of five is spread out on an old comforter in Ramsett Park, the late September breeze keeping them cool, but not causing the babies to be uncomfortable. Ben’s lying on his back, a section of the blanket folded beneath his head for support, ankles crossed with a tuckered out Sonia resting on his chest. She’s covered up with his jacket, and she smiles each time their daughter, even in her sleep, pets her dad’s scruff; she’s been doing it since she was a newborn.

She snaps a quick photo on her Gryzzl Tablet before returning her attention to her boys. Wesley’s at the very edge of what she’s deemed the safe zone, his tiny fingers plucking at the grass and giggling to himself. He’s always been the most content of the babies, so cute and shy and clings to Leslie like nobody’s business. She leans over and pats his butt.

They’re growing up way too quickly. Despite being premature at birth, they’re all three hitting their milestones early. They’re nine and half months old and crawling. That’s right: Crawling. Ben nearly had a panic attack when he had left his three immobile children in the living room on the floor to go grab a drink; when he came back, one baby was missing. The Knope-Wyatt triple cherries are definitely the best things to ever happen to them, but she sometimes misses cuddling up with her tiny newborns.

Leslie picks up both boys, pulling them closer to where Ben and Sonia are relaxing. Stephen instantly tries to crawl on his father, and she lifts him, allowing the baby to sloppily, wetly kiss his cheek. “Hey, Stevie. I thought you crawled away from all of us.”

Of course he doesn’t mean that; Ben would have a heart attack if that were true.

Wesley yawns and tugs at tail of Leslie’s flannel (actually, it’s Ben’s, but she steals shirts from him all the time). He starts to fuss, and she holds him close to her; he nuzzles his face into her neck, and she smiles. The sun will go down soon, and two of their three babies are tired, and it’s almost dinnertime, but she doesn’t feel like going just yet. Today’s been so amazing and peaceful with no work or worries to hold them back.

“Ready to go, babe?” Ben asks.

Leslie shakes her head. “Just a few more minutes.”

She’s perfectly content here with her family.


	12. Adoration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one word prompt from anonymous.

It isn’t hard to adore Leslie Knope, especially when she’s in her element. 

There’s a magical, mythical sea of binders (well, they’re magical and mythical according to her) spread across their comforter, along with an assortment of papers whose stack reaches a mile high. She’s sitting crisscross applesauce, hair in a messy ponytail with her cheeks still a bit flushed. And she’s absolutely stunning in her blue Cookie Monster pajama pants and his Letters to Cleo shirt. 

“Ben!” she calls hoarsely. “I’ve been waiting for you for hours!”

He chuckles and rounds the other side of the bed. She envelopes him in a massive, bone-crushing hug, nuzzling her face into his neck. “You seem like you’re feeling better,” he notes.

Leslie’s been under the weather for the past few days, falling asleep at random spots and times and blowing her nose every few seconds. Thankfully, it was the weekend when it all first started, so she was able to minimize the amount of work she’d miss. Her fever’s gone, but her forehead’s sweaty.

And, it may sound really weird, but Ben finds himself falling in love with this crazy, passionate, goofball of a woman all over again. Because she’s perfect in every way imaginable, even when she’s working too hard and looks so tired, so enticing in the middle of their big bed. He wants to wrap her up in his arms and cuddle her straight to sleep.

“Wanna watch TV?” she asks. “We still haven’t watched the new episode of 20/20; I hear it’s a good one.”

His eyes widen. “Are you sure there’s room for me amongst your ocean of work?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, babe.” She’s getting ready to get up, but he gently pushes her down, gathering her supplies and papers and binders and moving them to the top of the dresser. “I would’ve gotten that,” she says. 

He loses the striped tie, unbuttoning his shirt. “Just relax. Don’t worry about moving too much tonight. You need your rest.” 

“I’ve been resting all day, Benjamin. I’m in perfect condition.” 

Of course, the second that escapes her mouth, a sneeze rockets through her.

“Uh huh. We’ll see about you getting back on your feet tomorrow.” 

He changes into sweatpants, leaving on his white undershirt before padding downstairs to the kitchen quickly. Ben returns with a white to go container and a class of orange juice on a tray, settling it down in front of his wife. 

“You’re the best husband ever,” she says, mouth full of JJ’s famous waffles slathered in way too much whipped cream. 

He kisses the tip of her nose, snuggling beside her in bed. 

In fact, it’s super easy to adore Leslie Knope.


	13. Goosebumps (I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one word prompt from emmylovestv.

"Why did our A/C have to go out on the hottest day of the year?" Leslie whines. She's fanning herself with budget request forms, and, wait, she really probably shouldn't be ruining these. Honestly, she's not even sure if they're hers or Ben's, but it doesn't matter at this point because their house is disgustingly, horrifyingly hot, and she can't breathe, and everything's sticky. And definitely not in a good way. 

Ben shrugs from beside her. "I dunno." He's sweating way more than her, provided that he shoved their three fans mostly in her direction so she doesn't have to suffer. He's such a good, sweet husband. "How're the babies doing in there? Are you cool enough?" 

She's three months pregnant with their amazing triple cherries, and the whole stupid freaking city is experiencing these outages. Ben's called the every single nearby hotels, even ones that are an hour away, and it seems as though this could be an Indiana-wide thing. He's been desperately trying to get them all out of this house, but there's nowhere to go, and it's too humid and gross to move much. "I'm okay. And I don't think the babies mind either way." 

He scoffs. "Maybe I should climb inside there too then."

"Uh uh. It's way too hot for that." 

Ben nods. "I think I'd pass out just trying."

"I'd almost rather be sitting in the car than in here." 

His eyes widen. "Is that what you want to do? Do you think it'd be safer for the babies?" 

Poor Ben. Poor kind, considerate, overly exhausted Ben. He's been awake for nearly two days straight trying his best to fix their air conditioning or at least whip up a new solution for their growing issue, but to no avail. He's drenched in his own perspiration with dark purple bags beneath his eyes, and he looks so vulnerable, yet so handsome sprawled out like a starfish in his plaid boxers. 

"Honey, I'm okay. The babies are okay. Why don't you try to take a nap?"

Immediately, he shakes his head. "Too hot."

"Do you wanna take another shower?" 

"No." And she doesn't blame him; they've showered seven times today, and it's only four in the afternoon. "Want some ice cream?" he asks.

Her heart almost explodes because yes. Just yes. "Of course! I'll go get it!"

"Uh uh. Stay here. I'll be right back."

She's lucky, incredibly lucky to have Ben as her husband and the father of their babies, even if he's soaking wet (also not in a good way). She smiles and nods, relaxing back against the pillows. He returns a few minutes later with two heaping bowls of vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, sprinkles, cherries, and whipped cream. 

Leslie would totally cuddle him hard, but it would most likely just end up making both of them sick.

Before he even takes a bite, he leans over and kisses her stomach three times, one for each little baby. Then, he pecks her cheek, whispering, "I love you," in her ear. 

It's the hottest day of the year, and they have no A/C, but Ben somehow still manages to give her goosebumps.


	14. "Hey, I said stay awake."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is from the injured memes list. It was prompted by firstinfriendshipfourthinobesity.

“Ben.” She shakes his shoulder more roughly than she wants to.

He blinks, rubbing at his eyes like a petulant toddler before letting out a grumble. “Hmm?”

“What’s the date?”

Her husband lets out a low moan, followed by smushing his face even deeper into his pillow. He’s bundled beneath their grey comforter, but still shivering slightly, so she makes a mental note to retrieve their electric blanket from the closet because she won’t be able to survive if she turns the heat up any higher. “January somethin’ or another...” he murmurs.

“January what?” She gulps; he totally knew the answer to this three hours ago.

He shrugs. “Twenty-fifth?”

Leslie rubs his back, careful of the dark bruises. It’s close enough considering it’s past midnight and “technically” the twenty-sixth, but she’s not going to worry about that. Wait. Is she supposed to worry about that? She doesn’t want him to have a brain hemorrhage or something due to her negligence. Should she call Ann? No. No, she’ll only call if he starts acting strange.

She gets their electric blanket out, plugging it in before pulling down the cover he’s so cozied up in. He immediately flinches, and his entire body winds into a tension filled ball; she tries not to burst into tears when he whimpers. As adorable as he is in his navy blue long sleeved shirt, Batman pajama pants, and thick wool socks, it’s not worth it at all for him to feel any pain. She quickly wraps him up in the additional source of heat before spreading the comforter over him once more. She gently lies down beside him, lightly massaging his hipbone. 

It’s been the worst day she’s experienced since she was ten years old. 

There’s nothing quite like a frantic phone call from her best friend to inform her that her husband’s been in an accident to send her into a tailspin from Hell. A truck plowed straight into Ben on his way to her office for lunch, hitting him head-on. Needless to say, he’s astonishingly lucky to walk (or, rather, limp) away from this with only a few injuries that didn’t require him to stay overnight in the hospital. Still, though, he’s pretty sore and concussed and groggy.

It’s days like these that make her want to hold on to him even tighter and never ever let him go.

~

“Honey,” she whispers, brushing his messy hair from his forehead. “I need you to stay awake for a few minutes.”

She really needs to change dressings for the wounds on his left knee and elbow, but that requires getting him undressed and just a bit of cooperation. It’s been over twenty-four hours since the incident, and, while he’s been coherent enough for the brief mental assessments, and she fears this will prove to be her most difficult task yet. She gets him out of his clothes with no help from him other than valiantly sitting up. Once his shirt and pants are off, he starts quivering almost uncontrollably, and she places the heated blanket over his torso while she cleans his knee.

“Hey. I said stay awake, mister,” she says teasingly, hoping a nudge in the right direction will help. 

“Cold,” he mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest beneath the fabric.

She nods sadly. “I know. This won’t take long, but it needs to be done.”

Needless to say, his knee’s a lot easier to work with than his elbow because, well, it’s an elbow. It moves and bends and generally misbehaves, which is part of the reason why Dr. Harris said to keep the arm as still as possible. He hisses at the antibiotic ointment rubbed over it, and she re-wraps it in gauze. She helps him change into new pajamas before tugging the blanket and comforter back over his chilled body.

The instant Leslie settles down on the bed, where she’s been stationed since they returned from the ER yesterday, Ben rolls just a tad bit. She scoots the rest of the way, and he nuzzles his cheek on to her shoulder.

“I love you, Ben,” she says quietly, entwining their fingers together. Yesterday could’ve been so extremely terrible and horrifying, and she has no idea what she would do without her sexy elf of a husband. Tears swell in her eyes, and she feels him peck the nearest piece of skin to him multiple times. She’s incredibly happy and thankful he’s still here with her.

“Love you, Les. Never forget that.”

Trust her, she won’t. And she can only hope that Ben won’t forget either. 

Although, they’re the best team in the galaxy, and she doubts he’ll lose track of that.


	15. "It's just a scratch."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is from the injured memes list. It was prompted by sakurablossomstorm-blog.

“It’s just a scratch!” Leslie insists.

Ben shakes his head hastily, eyes wide in terror and confusion. “That’s not ‘just a scratch,’ honey. You need stitches! How did you go around all day like this?”

She shrugs. “It was for Ramsett Park. I didn’t think anything of it.”

And it’s an honestly horrific scene to him. His wife, his beautiful, stunningly gorgeous wife, has a long, jagged gash on her lower leg that’s still oozing quite a bit of blood, despite the makeshift purple bandage she wrapped around it, probably hours ago with nothing to thoroughly clean the wound. She’d be advocating a raccoon friendly environment for the park all day, while he stayed behind to watch and play with their seven month old triple cherries. 

“Les, we need to get you to the ER to sew this up.”

She whines. “Nooo... It’s fine, babe. You can heal me instead.” 

And she wiggles her eyebrows, but he’s not very interested in that at the moment. “Um, no, that’s not gonna work. I’m going to call your mom and see if she can watch the babies.” He pulls out his cell phone, kneeling down in the front of her stationed position on the couch to inspect the cut closer. Bleh. He loves her to pieces, but that’s gross, and he has no idea why she would continue to walk around without a word, in short nonetheless. It has to hurt.

His wife’s the toughest person he knows. She’s the smartest and most dedicated and competitive and passionate, but sometimes her skull’s a little too thick. But Ben’s seen her sick, exhausted, cranky, bloated, sore, pregnant, very pregnant, super pregnant, and post C-section after giving birth to triplets; he likes to think he’s seen it all. Her behavior isn’t unpredictable. In fact, this is extremely Leslie Knope-ish right now, but he knows this has to bother her just a bit.

“Okay, your mom will be here in fifteen minutes. No work. No waffles. We’re going straight to the ER.”

She sighs. “What happened to Nice Ben?”

He chuckles. “I’m right here, love. I promise.”

~

Luckily, Dr. Harris stitches up her shin quickly, numbing her and sewing away without saying much. They’re home within an hour, and Ben sends his mother in law home with a long thank you and brief hug. Soon, they’re cuddled up in their big bed with their kids piled around them. Sonia rubs at his facial hair, Wesley’s curled on his chest half asleep, and Stephen’s sprawled out over Leslie’s lap, rolled to his side and beginning to touch his mother’s bandages.

“Whoa,” he says calmly, readjusting the two babies he’s holding to wrangle in a third. “Mommy’s leg’s hurt. We need to be careful.”

He’s seven months old and doesn’t really understand, but Ben tells him anyway. He’s read in numerous parenting books that it’s important to talk to kids like they can actually comprehend what he’s saying, even if they honestly can’t. Sure, he still uses baby talk too from time to time, but it’s also nice to utilize his regular, normal voice. 

“I’m okay, Ben,” she reminds him once more.

He nods. “I know. I just want to keep you safe.”

“Because I’m your Baby Mommy?”

He laughs. “No. Because I love you, babe. And I don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” he says. “Well, also because you’re my Baby Mommy too.”

Leslie leans over and kisses his lips before taking a squirming Stephen from him and blowing raspberries on his bare tummy.


	16. "It was an accident."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is from the injured memes list. It was prompted by sakurablossomstorm-blog.

There’s a sickening, deafening scream that shakes Ben from his leaf-raking trance. It’s curdling and so loud, and he immediately sprints over to the swing set to find Wesley, his youngest child, crying in pain on the ground. “Wes,” he says, trying his best to hide his worry. “What happened? Are you okay?” He’s asking stupid questions, and he knows it. And there’s blood trickling from a cut on his forehead, and he’s clutching his left arm awkwardly.

“It was an accident!” Stephen shouts, running to meet both of them. “I-I didn’t mean to!”

But all he really hears is the sound of his six year old baby boy sobbing in agony. He bites his lower lip and picks him up gingerly, hoping and praying that jarring his injuries won’t make them any worse. God, what about internal bleeding? He should call 911. Or Leslie. Somebody. But they would take too long to get here, and he can’t stand seeing Wesley like this. He couldn’t stand seeing anyone, his kid or not, in this kind of pain.

He tells Stephen to follow him, whose eyes are glassy and head hung low. The little boy grabs his brother’s green glasses and holds them carefully, protectively as they go inside for Ben to grab multiple baggies of ice and a washcloth to help sooth his son. His heart’s literally about to beat out of his chest with worry and fear, but he has to keep calm. Has to. Even if every fiber in his being is begging for a good, solid panic attack that definitely won’t help, but will somehow make him feel oddly, strangely better. Like he can breathe again. 

Ben shuttles his boys into the SUV, tentative with each move he makes around Wesley. Elephant sized tears stream down his flushed cheeks, and there’s blood starting to drip into his eyes. “Stephen, I need you to do something for me while I drive. Okay, buddy?”

The six year old nods shyly, but there’s focus in his brown eyes.

“I need you to keep this rag and ice on your brother’s forehead right where the blood is, alright?”

He receives another nod, and Stephen does exactly what he’s told.

It’s the longest fifteen minute car ride of Ben’s life.

~

“I didn’t mean to push him, Daddy,” Stephen says, swinging his legs slowly back and forth in the red plastic chair. “Well, I didn’t want Wes to get hurt.” 

“What happened, buddy? Why would you ever do that to your brother?”

He expects more tears, and that’s exactly what he gets. But his older son somehow manages to keep his composure at the same time. “He stole my Yoda and wouldn’t give it back.”

“Stephen, you can’t just lash out every time someone does something to bother you. You could’ve really hurt Wes today.”

His son nods, eyes toward the tiled floor of the ER. Wesley’s arm is being x-rayed, and Ben begged the nurses and doctors to stay with his other boy, but Stephen can’t go in, and there wouldn’t be anyone to watch him. “I know, Dad. I r-really didn’t mean for him to get hurt. I didn’t w-want that. I was just m-mad. Is he gonna be okay?”

Ben immediately scoops up Stephen in his arms, and the boy wraps around him like a tiny koala. “He’ll be okay. Don’t worry. He’ll be okay.”

“I’m s-sorry,” he whispers once more.

He nods, placing a gentle kiss to his son’s neck. “I know, buddy. It’s okay.”

~

Wesley’s arm is broken, and he needed five stitches on his forehead, but he’s in incredibly great spirits for whatever reason. Stephen apologizes several times and gives his brother a hug, offering him the toy Yoda that must’ve been in his coat pocket the entire time. Ben would’ve never suspected that they would make up so quickly, and he can’t help but smile when Wesley lets Stephen pick the color of his cast. He gets bright hunter’s orange, and Stephen feeds him ice chips like a true hospital patient.

By the time they arrive home, Leslie and Sonia are there. They both instantly come flying to Wesley, who’s tiny arm is cradled protectively in a sling while Ben carries the sleepy, exhausted boy upstairs to the triplets bedroom. Both parents kiss him, and Leslie tucks him in while Ben picks up a still upset, guilty Stephen.

“Don’t be sad, Stevie,” Wesley pipes up from his bed. 

The six year old nods and manages a quick, brief smile before latching on to Ben even tighter.

“Is he okay?” Leslie mouths.

Ben nods and rubs his back. “It’s just been a long day.” He kisses his wife, and his daughter clings to his leg, telling her everything about her adventures at Mommy’s office. 

The family doesn’t move from Wesley’s bedside until he falls fast asleep, lulled by the loving conversations of his brother, sister, and parents.


	17. Hoodie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a first day of fall prompt from firstinfriendshipfourthinobesity.

“Want some of my apple cider?” her husband asks, holding the still pretty full cup out to her.

She nods, and it’s warm and soothing and pleasant sliding down her throat. Is it possible for a throat to be cold? Because she’s fairly certain that it’s possible. It’s mid-October, and they’re at this adorable pumpkin patch. Sonia and Wesley are swinging delightfully, giggling and chattering about, while Stephen jumps on the monstrous trampoline that nearly made Ben gag earlier.

It’s a crisp afternoon, and the clouds overshadow the sun, making everything around Leslie seem at least thirty degrees colder than when the sun makes its three second appearances. Ben’s already given her his black coat, pulling the hood over her head and everything. Her heart sinks to her frozen toes because she feels him shivering every time he brushes up against her, but he’s so sweet that he doesn’t say a word. He just keeps watching their seven year old triple cherries. 

Ben’s only wearing that same old bedraggled, sort of oversized and faded dark grey hoodie she saw frequently when she visited his motels all those nights when he had first came to Pawnee. He’s had it since he was twenty-eight, and she wonders how it’s even still clothing anymore. He mostly just sleeps in it now, and it’s a comfort item she keeps close when he dips into the under the weather category, but he paired it with jeans and tennis shoes today.

He’s her sexy Baby Daddy.

Well, her sexy Triple Daddy. Because their babies aren’t really babies anymore, and she gets sad about that often.

“Dad! Can we go through the corn maze?” Stephen runs up to ask. He’s their adventurer, explorer, and entrepreneur that also loves to scare people, so Leslie wouldn’t be surprised if this turned into him running around to try and frighten his brother and sister.

“Only if Wes and Sonia want to go too. We have to stay in a group,” he says.

And, God, did she mention how hot he is? Because he is, and she clutches at his hand since she can’t do anything here with their children around.

Sonia and Wesley agree instantly, and the family of five heads to the entrance of the corn maze just as the sun begins to set. Ben immediately whips out three flashlights of his hoodie pouch; they’re the mini ones, and he picked the same color (blue) for all three of them so there’s no fighting about it (trust her, colors of items are incredibly important to their kids). None of them argue or complain, and they giggle excitedly about how scary it’s going to be.

But all Leslie can do is tremble because it’s, like, four degrees out here, and this isn’t natural. 

Why is she so cold?

“Here,” Ben says. And he strips off the grey hoodie and hands it to her, leaving him in only a white thermal long sleeved shirt. 

She shakes her head. “N-No,” she stammers. “You need this.”

“No I don’t. You need it more,” he says. “Please put it on. It’s fine; I promise.”

Leslie complies, and the fabric smells like cologne and cinnamon, and there’s warmth seeping through every inch of it.

She smiles, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders as they head off into the corn maze with their kids.


	18. Mittens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a first day of fall prompt from sakurablossomstorm-blog.

“Isn’t it a little early to be looking at winter clothing?” Ben asks. It’s officially the first day of autumn, but the leaves are nowhere near changing colors, and the grass is greener than ever. Hell, it’s almost ninety degrees outside today. Sweat begins to drench the collar of his green plaid shirt, and can someone please explain why he’s wearing jeans? He’s pretty sure he’s melting.

Leslie shakes her head cutely. “It’s never too soon to be prepared,” she points out.

He sighs. “It is when you have a bit of a hoarding tendency, honey.”

“Take that back,” she says, pinching his arm. It’s ironically the same spot she always grabs ahold of, so there’s a deep purple bruise that he’s positive is permanent. He’s made it through a year of marriage with the same exact contusion; she used to ask about it, but he thinks she’s figured out that it does, indeed, come from her. “You don’t mean it, Wyatt.”

Ben chuckles and kisses her forehead, wrapping an arm around his lovely wife. “Of course not. Which color do you like best?” he questions, gesturing to the display of mittens in front of them. Did he mention it’s only September? Indiana is known to be humid and sticky until mid October, even if the temperature does significantly drop off before then. 

“Ooh, I like the teal, but the maroon goes better with my coat.”

“Don’t you mean my coat?” he asks with a grin.

“What? Pshh. You make it sound like I steal your clothes or something.”

Which she does. She so totally does. She’s been thieving his belongings since they first got together; he’s never once minded. His Letters to Cleo shirt might as well be hers now, along with a wide variety of flannels that she throws over her own shirts while lounging or working around the house. She pulls on his socks in the mornings and has recently started wearing his sweatpants when it’s her time of the month. And, if she’s sick or sad, she always goes for his shirts first. 

“I like those blue ones,” he says, handing them to her.

Her eyebrows furrow. “These don’t match with anything.”

Ben shrugs. “They match your beautiful eyes.”

And, honestly, he doesn’t know how he ends up pushed against an endcap full of bobble hats, but it doesn’t really matter once her lips touch his.


	19. Scarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is first day of fall prompt from anonymous.

“I don’t wear scarves,” Ben says. He’s such a Scrooge sometimes. “I always feel like they’re going to come to life and strangle me.”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t think that’s what happens.”

He shrugs and wants to continue on their shopping journey for what they actually came here for, but Leslie’s in need of a new scarf. And what’s cuter than matching scarves? Ooh, they can get the blue penguins or the red and green reindeer or the plaid one covered in moose. Yeah. The plaid one. She holds it out for him to see and Ben clutches the shopping cart a bit tighter.

“Do I have to?” he asks. He’s all scruffy and adorable from not shaving in four or five days, bundled up in his ultra warm winter coat even though it’s still fall. “Les, I really don’t like scarves. Why don’t we get matching hats instead? Or matching nothing?”

She sighs. “You’re no fun today. Did I lose Fun Ben today too?”

“What other form of me don’t you have?”

“Well, Nice Ben for starters. How could you not want matching scarves? They’re so cute!”

“They are cute,” he says, and she smiles. “But I’m good without it.”

“Hello to you too, Grumpy Ben,” she tells him, hanging the scarf up and crossing her arms over her chest. Yes, she’s being a bit of a baby right now, but she loves scarves and thinks they’re adorable, and Ben never wants to buy any. Sure, he’s more of a beanie or coat guy, and he endorses any other form of matching besides this. He even wore matching sweaters for their Christmas card this year. Maybe it isn’t such a big deal. 

She’s about to tug on him so they can head to the food aisles when he picks the plaid reindeer scarf back up.

“You know what? I think I like this one,” he tells her with a crooked grin that drives her wild.

“Really?” she asks excitedly.

He kisses the tip of her nose. “Really.”


	20. Early Riser vs. Snooze-Hitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a "who" prompt from sakurablossomstorm-blog.

It’s not a secret that Leslie Knope doesn’t get a whole lot of sleep. 

She’s usually wired and more than ready to passionately argue with someone at 2:30 in the morning. She doesn’t need the normal eight hours per night; in fact, she typically runs on a whole lot less than that. Sometimes, she’s lucky if her mind slows down enough to rest every other night. Granted, this has gotten better since she’s been with Ben, but it could very well still be considered a “problem.” Because, yeah, occasionally she has full on conversations with this fake ficus in City Hall or needs copious, never ending amounts of coffee since she sleeps so little.

Needless to say, she always wakes up before the alarm clock goes off. She sets it at five on her side, and Ben sets his phone alarm for 5:45, although he doesn’t bother rolling out of bed until a little after 6:30. While Leslie doesn’t need the slumber, Ben most certainly, definitely does (if he goes too long without a decent amount, he starts rambling and babbling and discussing Star Wars, and the snoring is almost always significantly worse when he’s over tired). 

Today’s no different.

Leslie managed to drift off for a few hours, snuggled up against her husband, who practically forced her to at least take a break if she didn’t want to sleep the whole night away. But it’s almost 4:30, and Ben’s snoring quietly, curled into a ball on his side with the comforter pulled up to his chin. She kisses his cheek before crawling out of bed, knowing she has two entire hours before she’ll even hear a peep out of him.

She gets ready while sipping on coffee with extra whipped cream, the news playing in the background. She typically wraps a blanket around her shoulders once she’s finished, grabbing a binder and hunkering down on the couch for a pre-work work session. She tries to keep the house a bit cooler in the morning, especially since it helps wake Ben up a little. He may be from Minnesota, but he gets cold surprisingly fast, and it makes him more alert. 

Every now and then, she chuckles. Because Ben’s on his fifth time of hitting the snooze button, and, even though he’s gotten more than eight hours of rest, she knows he’ll be nice and groggy, especially since it’s 6:34, and he needs to get moving. She heads into their bedroom, mindful to step over the growing pile of Legos she should probably pick up but hasn’t yet. He’s rolled to where he’s flat on his stomach, but he’s no longer snoring.

“Good morning,” she says, clicking on his bedside lamp and leaning down to kiss his forehead.

And, as per his usual, the only thing he does is grumble and bundle up even more.

“C’mon, Ben. It’s a beautiful day for work.”

He shakes his head. “Sun’s not ev’n out y’t,” he slurs.

And, yeah, he’s right, but it’s just an overcast, rainy April morning.

Ben tries to cuddle back into the pillows, but Leslie grabs his hand and successfully removes it from his cocoon, pecking the warm skin. He groans, but pushes himself off the mattress anyway. He’s adorable in his plaid pajama pants and long sleeved shirt, shivering and stumbling over his bare feet on his way to the bathroom. He shuts it without another word, and she smiles.

He’s much more coherent after his shower and two cups of coffee anyway.


	21. "You were sick on your birthday."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a based off a prompt that sakurablossomstorm-blog found.

Ben barely has the energy to put his car in park, much less to walk all the way to the front door and go inside. Yes, it’s a beautiful, snowy evening in mid November that should make him feel grateful to be alive with the crisp fresh air and such, but his lower back is killing him, and he’s pretty sure his balls are painfully close to becoming frozen and useless. Besides, Leslie isn’t even home right now, so he has zero motivation to move. Or breathe. Or blink.

Somehow, he forces his limbs to work; his legs tremble with each step, and why does his skin ache? Is that a thing? Can skin ache? Because he figures it’s not supposed to. As he shakily unlocks the front door, his mind focuses, zones in on bundling up in bed and taking a nap until his wife returns. He toes off his shoes and sheds his suit jacket; he’s already in the living room when he realizes what a massive mistake this is. He grabs the quilt from the back of the couch, wrapping it around his shoulders before huffing and plopping down on the cushions. His clothes making contact with the fabric burns, singes, but he finds himself lying on his side anyway. 

~

Tomorrow is Ben’s birthday, and she’s pretty positive it’s impossible for her to be any more excited. Because she has so so so so many plans for her wonderful husband that she’s practically bursting at the seams. She’s giving him his first present at 4:13 AM, the very time he was born thirty-eight years ago. Ooh, she’s just ready for the day to start so she can see his stupid surprised face that always makes her laugh almost uncontrollably since it’s so dorky and cute. 

She figures he’s been home for a while now, but she had a few last minute party stops to make before coming home. She heads inside and places the ice cream cake in the freezer (who doesn’t love ice cream cake in November? She’s already personally made him three cakes with different flavors and toppings too). Leslie’s walking toward their bedroom when she spies her husband sleeping on the couch, snoring wickedly and quivering even though he’s entwined in a quilt. 

“Hey,” she whispers, kneeling down to gently shake his shoulder. She kisses his forehead and quickly pulls back; he’s really really warm beneath her lips. Her heart skips several beats as she places a couple fingers on his cheek. No. Not this. Not the day before his birthday. Poor guy. “Ben, let’s get you to bed,” she tells him quietly, brushing his hair from his forehead.

Bloodshot, droopy eyes open slightly, and she frowns even more. “Can I stay here for a bit?” he asks; he sounds utterly exhausted. 

“You should really get into some PJs and lay down in a real bed. It would make you feel better.”

He nods, biting his bottom lip as he stands on disastrously shaky legs.

~

Ben’s sort of okay two days later. He’s still under the weather with a clogged nose, headache, and sore throat, but he hasn’t puked since yesterday, so he considers that to be a major feat. Leslie called off his Battlestar Galactica themed party that seemed pretty amazing in order for him to get some rest. He spent his actual birthday holed up beneath their comforter with his wife spooning around him, alternating between sleeping, tossing his cookies, and blowing his nose way too many times. 

And he feels bad. Genuinely bad. Leslie was so excited and pumped for his big day. She had so many plans and gifts and cakes, and he couldn’t enjoy any of it. “What’re you thinking about?” Leslie asks from beside him, carding her fingers through his hair.

“Nothing,” he says hoarsely. “Go back to sleep, love.”

Because she hasn’t really rested since she found him on the couch a few days ago. She’s doting and adamant about him taking medicine like clockwork and tries her best to keep him comfortable; it’s way more than he deserves. 

“Your thinking’s really loud,” Leslie points out. “Plus, you’re not snoring.”

He chuckles. “I thought you hated my snoring?”

“I’ve never hated it, dearest Benjamin. But now it’s hard to sleep without it. Are you feeling okay?”

He nods. “’m fine. I’m sorry for ruining –”

“Nope. I’m gonna stop you right there, buddy. You were sick on your birthday. You couldn’t help it, and there’s no need to apologize. I’ve moved your party to next week, and everyone’s still totally on board, so it’s fine. I just want you to get better.”

Ben rolls over and wraps his arms around his beautiful wife. “Thank you,” he whispers.

She rubs his side. “Don’t thank me. Want some ice cream cake? It could help your throat.”

“That sounds great.”


	22. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one word prompt from sakurablossomstorm-blog.

“Oh my God. Honey, you have got to stop snoring,” she says, sighing heavily as she shoves her husband awake. And she’s not exactly gentle. He’s still warm beneath her palm, so she instantly regrets her decision, but he blinks blearily at her, smacking his chapped lips. “I’m sorry. But it’s so loud tonight. Why is it so loud? Do you know why it’s that loud?”

Well, it’s probably because he’d spent yesterday afternoon playing with their five year old triple cherries in the rain. No. Storm. Because that’s a much more accurate description of what it first started out as. Stephen begged and pleaded with all his might to go out there, which eventually caused Wesley and Sonia to follow suit. Ben eventually promised to take them outside as soon as it wasn't thundering or lightning anymore, and these are the consequences of that terrible, awful decision.

Because, while none of their kids have colds, Ben caught something almost immediately. It started out with just sniffling, but it quickly morphed into sneezing and coughing by late last night. And, seriously, she doesn’t know what the hell is wrong with his immune system or why he snores so freaking much, but he should get it checked out before she goes crazy. 

“’m sorry,” he mumbles, rolling away from her and attempting to get out of bed, but Leslie tugs him back down.

She shakes her head, tucking him in. “No. Don’t leave. That’s not what I’m getting at.”

“Then what should I do?” he asks, reaching a slightly shaky hand out to grip at the box of tissues on his bedside table. He blows his nose, and gross. She’s seen him like this numerous times in their lives together, but it’s still unsettling when he doesn’t feel well. His eyes are bloodshot, and his cheeks are flushed, and he sort of looks half dead.

“How about not running around in storms with our children anymore?”

“Wasn’t a storm when I took them out there,” he points out nasally. “Just rainin’.”

But, of course, she can’t stay irritated at him for long. He’s exhausted and spent the previous night and all day today miserable. He took the kids to and from school (even though she was trying not to expose their babies to this, but he was the only one who could do it) and went to work, and she thinks that alone is enough for him. She kisses his stubbly chin before slinging an arm across his waist and tangling their legs together.

“Get some rest, my little Storm Trooper.”

He chuckles. “Not the right context, but I’ll accept it.”


	23. Nose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another one word prompt from sakurablossomstorm-blog.

There’s no denying that the babies look like them.

Which he supposes makes perfect sense because they’re his and Leslie’s biological children.

But there are definitely differences between all three of them, even though they were conceived at the same time and born within a mere four minutes of each other. At first, and he’ll be honest here, he couldn’t tell his sons apart to save his life. They were cute and adorable, so fuzzy and cuddly in their set colors: blue for Stephen, and green for Wesley. But that early-identified birthmark on Wesley’s stomach saved their asses on more than one occasion. 

Now, their happy, healthy triple cherries are six months old, wiggly and squirmy as ever. Last night, Sonia decided the only place she wanted to sleep was on her daddy’s chest, so Ben dozed on and off on the couch while his daughter petted his stubble. It turned out to be a good system because Sonia’s been the “disturber” baby the last few nights, keeping her brothers up and turning their infants into tiny holy terrors who poop way more than he thought was possible.

It’s a disgustingly humid June day, and the heat seeps through their air conditioned house. Ben’s still in boxers and a t-shirt, bare feet up on the coffee table as he watches the news with Sonia still in his grasp. She gnaws on her fingers happily, gurgling and cooing ever few minutes. His son’s are actively engaging in tummy time on the floor, and he chuckles when he glances over to find Stephen practically on top of Wesley, chewing on his brother’s onesie. 

“Good morning,” his wife mumbles sleepily. Her hair’s in a messy ponytail, and she’s wearing nothing but a peach colored tank top and lacy underwear. She sits down beside him, immediately placing her head on his shoulder. Since having the babies, Leslie’s slumber cycle is quite a bit different, and he’s kind of grateful for that. Because, yes, it’s only 7:30, but the normal, typical version of Leslie is up and at ‘em by 4:00 or 4:30.

He kisses her the top of her head. “Morning, love.”

Wesley’s on his belly, while Stephen’s fighting viciously to roll over with his fingers also in his mouth. They look like the same exact person since they’re identical and all, but they’re totally not, and it’s sort of strange to him. Stephen’s loud and giggly and loves to play, while Wesley’s quiet and shy and is the baby that prefers to be held the most. Even their noses are the same. 

Sometimes, he’s still in awe that they have triplets. Thirty sets of fingers and toes that he loves to tickle. Six pairs of eyes who look to him for help, love, affection. Three tummies he blows raspberries on daily. Three perfect, cute, strikingly similar, tiny noses for him to kiss. 

They’re all so perfect. His family is perfect.


	24. Soft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is also a one word prompt from sakurablossomstorm-blog.

He doesn’t have any fat on his body. He’s all sharp angles and tiny bones and knobby, painful elbows. He doesn’t shave on a very regular basis, sometimes letting his stubble morph into a full beard before getting tired of the scratchiness and shaving it off. But, even with all these qualities standing in his way, there’s no one softer to her than Ben Wyatt.

Really, he’s absolutely her favorite pillow, and he's the one person she lays all over on a continuous, constant basis. She can’t fully wrap her head around how his chest is so comfortable or how her head seems to be perfectly made to cuddle on to his shoulder. He’s pretty little for a guy, and there’s no denying that. But he’s still so warm, solid, tender, and snuggly.

Today was frustrating and an entire bust, filled with Andy stuffing her office with Play-Doh, April chasing six (yes, six) raccoons around the department, and Ron locking his door and only listening to his headphones the whole time they were there. And Ben works at stupid Sweetums, and that’s like a ten minute drive, and she couldn’t just leave, even though she’s positive she hit her breaking point before the clock even struck nine. All she wanted to do was go back home, sip on hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, and rest with her husband.

Finally, she’s granted her wish. But it’s 5:30 and rainy, and she gets soaked on her way to the car. Her hair’s matted and feels nasty, and what the hell is in her shoes? Tears almost swell in her eyes because this freaking sucks, and she wants to go home, and she’s in desperate need of Ben here with her to make everything better because that’s what he always does.

It’s the reason why she’s immensely appreciative once she enters through their front door to a warm fire and two cups of cocoa sitting on the coffee table, waiting for her. Ben wraps her up in his arms, even though she’s thoroughly drenched and splatters water all over him too. He gets her changed into warm pajamas, grabbing his hoodie and plaid pajama pants for himself before they head back into the living room. The hot chocolate is sweet and the perfect temperature, and he somehow manages to get the right amount of whipped cream every single time.

She places her head on his shoulder, and, yeah, he’s incredibly bony, but he’s so soft. So so soft.

“I love you,” she whispers, planting a kiss on his collarbone.

He returns with a peck in her hair. “I love you too.”


	25. Irritable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one word from from waffles-junior.

It’s past midnight, and Leslie’s been grumbling with clear irritation for over an hour now. 

But she doesn’t leave her dining room table that’s piled high with campaign-related materials and her newest collection of stuffed dinosaurs that he bought her. Yes, he knows she has enough stuff in this crazy nightmare hoarder’s nest of a house, but they were cute and reminded him of her, and he jumps at any chance he gets to win a smile out of his girlfriend.

A girlfriend’s who’s running for City Council. A girlfriend who barely sleeps and always goes from one event to the next without breaks. Always planning the “next big thing” that will keep her polling numbers up. Always searching for new and improved tactics to take down Bobby Newport, included but not limited to threatening to drown his favorite comb in maple syrup and wrecking a prized car without anyone getting hurt (he still doesn’t know who this will work).

But she’s also a girlfriend who’s exhausted with purple bags beneath her usually bright blue eyes. She’s holding up her head with her left hand and scribbling down notes with her right. She sighs every now and then, and Ben glances up from his iPad every so often to try to make eye contact with her. Because it’s ridiculously late at night, and they don’t have any events until nine AM. She should at least attempt to lie down and take a nap.

Which is exactly what he tells her.

And all he earns is a scowl, an eye roll, and her returning promptly back to work.

“Honey, a nap would probably do you some good. You know, recharge your batteries. You’ve gotta be tired.”

She shakes her head. “I’m okay, Ben.”

He frowns. “Please? I’ll give you a back massage.”

“I still have a lot of stuff to do.”

He nods, grabbing her hand from across the table and rubbing over her knuckles with his thumb. “I know, love. But doesn’t some relaxation sound nice?”

“Ben, stop. I’m fine. I just wanna be alone right now.”

“Because you’re cranky?” he questions.

Leslie’s eyebrows immediately rise. “What? No. Pshhh... I’m not cranky! I’m, like, the chillest, coolest person ever!”

“Uh huh,” he says, standing up from his chair.

But Leslie grabs his arm. “Wait. Maybe you’re right. A back massage does sound nice.”

Ben gets her to her feet and wraps his arms around her waist before kissing her slowly.


	26. Goosebumps (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one word prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

Leslie wraps a quilt around her shoulders, the brown one Ben buried himself beneath in the middle of the night due to the still somehow dropping January temperatures, and descends the stairs. Their house silent, the only thing she hears is padding of her penguin socked feet against the hardwood. It’s a little after eight in the morning, and the babies need to be fed in an hour, and she kind of just wants to snuggle with her family right now.

She finds Ben on the couch with Stephen resting peacefully on his chest, a dangerously old comforter he must’ve dug out of one of their seemingly millions of hall closets pulled up to his chest with his feet on the coffee table. She peeks inside their two pack-in-plays to find Sonia and Wesley snoozing, each clad in a Christmas onesie (Sonia in purple and Wesley in green) she can’t manage to part with. They’re adorable and have reindeers plastered all over them, and they’re precious, okay?

But what she finds even more precious is her sexy triple Daddy, who’s stayed up with colicky newborns well into the night so she can rest and recover from the C-section. A sexy triple Daddy who’s careful and attentive and sweet and caring. Also, she’s jealous because he’s a sexy triple Daddy that earned Sonia’s very first smile. Actually, it was their first smile from anyone in their bunch, and he snapped a picture with his phone and everything to prove it.

She contemplates picking up a baby, but chooses to sit down next to Ben instead, not really wanting to disturb their rest until breakfast. He’s snoring loudly with his head tilted to the side, and she cringes before reaching over to place a pillow beneath it, wedged in between his shoulder and the couch. True to his recent nature, once he’s out he’s out, a new trait he’s picked up since the birth of the babies. He doesn’t get a whole lot of sleep, especially with Leslie’s slow recovery, but he crashes hard when he’s allowed a moment to do so.

Normally, she’s the type to spring into action, to jump right in and get her hands dirty. She loves blowing raspberries on bare tummies and even changing diapers, but everything is calm and under control, and all four of them are thankfully getting some rest and relaxation. She brushes Ben’s hair from his forehead, and he grumbles, instinctively and gently wrapping his hands around Stephen on his chest, who’s sucking his thumb with a mischievous look (she always manages to laugh at Stephen the most; he’s one month old, but, man, is he expressive). 

“Honey?” Ben murmurs from beside her, shifting and rubbing at one of his eyes with his fingers.

“Shh... Go back to sleep.”

“Babies?” he questions.

“They’re fine,” she reassures. “We’re all fine.”

He nods and shifts a bit to where his head is protectively lying on her shoulder, and she melts as Stephen moves a little closer too.

Leslie covers her legs with the old comforter and kisses her husband’s hair before rubbing her son’s tiny back.

Goosebumps. She gets goosebumps every time she even thinks about her adorable, usually very loud, wonderful family.

They’re perfect.


	27. Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one word prompt from fourthinobesity.

He’s convinced nothing will ever be the same.

And he’s knows he’s right. Because Leslie’s fast asleep in a hospital bed, and their babies are in the NICU, and he’s pretty certain he’s falling apart at the seams. He didn’t just have his body sliced open and give birth to three perfect, beautiful children. He didn’t just get brought into this world with absolutely zero concept of what’s going on. But he’s here in this place that reeks of antiseptic and death, and his heart’s seriously about to pound of out his chest, and why does his head hurt so badly?

Ben rubs his eyes, elbows on his knees as his heels bounce up and down, up and down, up and down on the white tiled floor. Tears swell and threaten to spill over his cheeks, but he refuses. Chokes them back because this isn’t what anyone needs right now. His wife’s hurting and can’t even see their children yet, and his poor babies... Their lungs are underdeveloped, and Wesley’s jaundiced, and he didn’t even get to hear them cry.

They should’ve cried. 

But Leslie was rushed here earlier in the morning with dangerously high blood pressure, despite the constant bed rest she’s been on since her second trimester. And now the triplets are here. It was so fast. So fast. He still doesn’t even know how, but his three babies are on this earth with them. He’s touched their fingers through holes in their incubators. He’s delicately, gently rubbed their tiny little toes. He’s told them that he loves them a million times.

This is all so... different. So new. So freaking scary.

He’s thrown up four times since their rather unexpected arrival. One of the nurses suggested a mild sedative and an IV, but he immediately refused. Because his wife just had triplets, and she’s not okay, and their babies aren’t okay, and nothing’s really okay. 

“Ben?” he hears from right beside him, and he glances up to find Leslie’s eyes open and her blinking blearily. “Are you okay?”

What a question. No adjective necessary because everything is honestly so strange. And he can’t appear weak right now. They need him to be strong, solid, sturdy. Dependable and courageous and stand up for them because none of them can. But seeing his wife in such a state of pure horror and confusion early sweeps over him. Watching their babies struggle with tubes and wires everywhere, their little bodies unequipped to be here just yet, has ruined him for the day.

He nods, shifting to where his legs are crossed in the incredibly uncomfortable plastic chair. 

“You look like you’re gonna pass out,” she says tiredly. “Why don’t you get some rest?”

But he shakes his head, swallowing thickly. “I’m alright.”

“Please don’t do this, babe.”

“Do what?” 

“Pretend you’re okay when you’re not...”

He sighs. “Les, go back to sleep. You need to save your energy.”

“Lie down with me.”

He instantly frowns. “I can’t... Your stitches.”

She shrugs. “We’ll just be careful then,” she says. “Please. Please come here.”

But he’s exhausted, so much so that even a hospital bed seems enticing enough. He toes off his shoes, standing up on shaky legs before sitting down as gently as possible, letting out a sigh of relief as his back slides against the pillows. He tugs the blankets up their waists, and Leslie maneuvers herself to where her head’s smushed on his shoulder.

She’s asleep within seconds, and Ben entwines their fingers together.

They’ll get through this.

Together.


	28. Fingertips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one word prompt from sakurablossomstorm-blog.

“Water?” he croaks out, burying himself deeper beneath his plaid comforter. He’s bundled in sweats, a long sleeved shirt, his grey hoodie, and two other blankets April and Andy unearthed from somewhere, but he’s miserably stuffy and cold, and Leslie isn’t here, and why is this happening?

Andy sighs. “Dude, we’ve been running around for you all day, and you haven’t even bought us dinner yet.”

Ben coughs into a wad of tissues and rubs his forehead with disastrously shaky fingers. But his throat is so dry and sore, and he needs to fall asleep immediately to avoid anymore conversation. Because Andy and April have been fighting him since he came home last night, feverish and exhausted and puking into the bushes with little to no care in the world that their neighbors were watching. He hasn’t even asked for much out of them. Just a few blankets and some tissues and the bottle of NyQuil he’s positive isn’t working from the bathroom and a glass of water.

“Pizza!” he hears Andy shout. “I want pizza. Dibs on pizza.” 

Of course, this ends up with his roommate bouncing up and down on his bed, accidentally jumping on Ben’s lower leg. The jostling and pain ripples through him, and he breathes as best as he can through a wide open mouth due to his congestion, hands on his head as he tries to swallow the nausea. But Andy keeps hopping around, and April’s about ready to join when he rolls over and heaves into the miniature trashcan.

“Oh, gross, dude. You should’ve warned us,” Andy says, getting off the mattress to lean down and study him a little too closely. Ben grimaces. “You’re, like, the whitest, tiniest person I’ve ever met. Did your mom have sex with a baby ghost?”

“No, babe. He’s the ghost,” April tells Andy.

“What? No way! Dude, that’s so cool!” 

Ben doesn’t have the energy to respond; he just tugs the covers over his face.

~

He wakes up to fingers rubbing his back soothingly.

“Good morning,” he hears his girlfriend whisper, and she’s snuggled up around him, her leg hooked over his as she massages beneath the multiple layers he’s wearing. “Andy told me you weren’t feeling so good.”

Ben shrugs. “Better now.” Which is only sort of true. And it’s only sort of true because Leslie’s next to him; he never sleeps that well without her. Ever since they started dating, he spends a lot of time with her. Running her campaign, eating ice cream for dinner, going on walks around Ramsett or Harvey James Park, and staying the night at her place is what his typical day consists of. But she surveyed with Ann yesterday while he did some clerical work instead. Well, he did that until his stomach decided it would be great to rupture all over everything.

“Do you need anything?” she asks, and now she’s running her fingers through his hair. “Sprite? Medicine? Maybe some soup or a real back rub?”

He barely has the energy to shake his head. “’m good.”

All he really needs is for his girlfriend to be here, her fingertips gently soothing him as much as her presence does.

“Okay,” she says, kissing the tip of his nose. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”


	29. Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one word prompt from sakurablossomstorm-blog.

“I don’t think this could’ve possibly gone worse,” Ben says, gesturing to their three beyond passed out triple cherries sprawled out in different parts of the living room. Sonia’s in a laundry basket filled with previously clean clothes, her wizard wardrobe slathered in Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Stephen’s on the couch, his red wig clumped together with blue and green M&Ms. And Wesley’s starfished out the floor, the scar on his forehead smudged and his own actual glasses smeared with a plain Hershey’s bar from earlier.

Leslie toes off her shoes and grabs his hand, but his eyebrows furrow once he realizes that it’s also covered in chocolate. “Oh, come on, grumpy. It wasn’t that bad.”

“I’m not grumpy, babe. But they’re four and literally just gorged themselves with candy. How could we let this happen?”

She shrugs. “I dunno. I guess we’re powerless to their tiny faces.”

Ben sighs, sinking into the recliner and only rolling his eyes when Leslie joins him, swiping her candied hand down the front of his robe. She snickers, and, yeah, she’s definitely too filled with sugar herself and is in dire need of sleep. And, if their three kids weren’t any indication of this, he needs some too. Because it’s 9:43 on Halloween night, and they’ve partied and danced and giggled and laughed the night away with their children, but now it’s time to rest.

“You’re already tired?” Leslie questions incredulously. “The night’s way too young, Wyatt!”

He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t say that if you were the one who pulled all four of you around in that wagon tonight.” 

“Don’t be such a Scrooge! Let’s get drunk and play Naked Twister!”

Ben instantly brightens up, but then he frowns. “The kids?”

“Riiiight. Let’s get them ready for bed first."


	30. Pillow Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one word prompt from the wonderful sakurablossomstorm-blog.

“This won’t work,” Sonia points out. “The structural integrity is clearly compromised.”

Stephen rolls his eyes. “You have no faith in me, do you?”

“Not generally, no.”

Stephen nudges his brother, who’s figuring out the height of the fort with a tape measurer. “Gross. You too? Why can’t you guys just have fun with this?”

Wesley pushes his glasses up. “Mom and Dad are forcing us to do this as a team building exercise. We’re following instructions. You know, the thing you suck at doing?”

The other Knope-Wyatt boy puts his hand on his chest. “I’m offended by your words, Wes.”

“Get over it,” Sonia says. “Now move.” 

But she shoves Stephen a bit too hard, and he ends up knocking into their newly constructed, almost completed pillow fort they’ve been working on for two hours now. The fort comes crashing down, pillows and blankets and chairs scattering across the carpet of the living room.

“Great!” Stephen shouts, hauling himself to his feet. “Now look at what you did!”

Sonia points at him. “You’re the one who never does anything!”

“Are you kidding me? You’re a jerk!”

“Me? Oh no, Stephen, trust me. It’s you that’s the jerk!”

An eruption of bickering and shouting erupts, leaving Stephen and Sonia arguing with each other while Wesley begins cleaning up the giant mess they’ve made, trying to rebuild the turmoil that is their team building activity for the day since they never seem to get along anymore. 

“Okay, seriously?” Wesley says after a few minutes. Sonia’s nearly in tears, so he grabs her a few tissues. “You’re both the worst! We were supposed to have this figured out before they got home, and they’ll literally be here any minute. Shut up, grab a pillow, and help me.” 

“You always take her side,” Stephen mutters, picking up a blanket as Sonia retrieves the tape measurer. 

Wesley just shucks a pillow at his head.


	31. Starfished vs. Curled Up Sleeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a "who" prompt from the lovely BenjisCoolTimes.
> 
> A.k.a. - Who sleeps with limbs hanging off the bed, and who hides under the blankets with all their limbs pulled in close?

Leslie doesn’t get a whole lot of sleep, but, when she does, she tends to go down. Hard. Sure, it may scarily only be every twenty-seven days or so (not that Ben’s spent several nights of his own compiling this data or anything), but it still happens. Her best friend Ann doesn’t believe she ever actually rests, but Ben lives with her and lies beside her every single night, and it’s obvious when her twenty-seven day cycle begins to dissipate and break down.

Because she’s cranky. So ridiculously cranky. He can’t make too much noise. He can’t be silent. He can’t watch episodes of Shark Tank because they make her cry (which he still doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t argue). She constantly wants mac ‘n’ cheese pizza, to the point where Ben starts coming home immediately after work when he knows he spies the crashing symptoms and makes it for her. It doesn’t buy him a lot of time, but it hits the spot temporarily.

This always ends with him giving her a soothing back massage with three cinnamon candles burning in the background of their otherwise pitch black bedroom. Leslie sighs contently into the mattress and holds his pillow close to her, completely and entirely relaxed. She falls asleep beneath his touch, cutely crinkling her nose during her last few seconds of consciousness.

Of course, he comes to bed a few hours later to find her starfished out. She’s so tiny, but she takes up so much room. He’ll never be able to comprehend that. Like, how? He doesn’t know, but her right leg and arm are fully on his side, and he’s half asleep himself, trying to not squish or hurt her in any capacity because he doesn’t want to wake her.

Jeez, she isn’t even under the covers, so Ben pulls those up over her too, settling down beside her. 

On these nights, it’s useless to try to cuddle; he only gets kicked out of the way.

And, yeah, that’s definitely true. Just ask the giant bruises on his shins.

~

He’s such an incredibly cute sleeper.

She still doesn’t know how he’s so perfect in every way imaginable, but he is, and it’s even more obvious when he’s resting. 

It’s typically only eight o’clock when Ben starts to show signs of impairment. He slurs his words and doesn’t make it a point to talk and changes into comfy clothes fairly early. He’s the City Manager and has been for a while now; he’s usually swimming in paperwork and logistics and badgering all day long. She doesn’t blame him for being tired, even if she would rather stay up and talk to him for hours and hours upon end without stopping or taking a breather.

He always falls asleep first on the couch. Or at the kitchen table. Or in their home office. Anywhere that isn’t a bed. And it’s all before ten. 

And she has to drag him from one location to the next. He grumbles in irritation and expresses his crankiness too well with the pouting as she tells him to brush his teeth and take out his contacts. But she never feels like his mom or anything even close to that; no, she just wants her husband to take care of himself, even if she has no idea how he physically goes to bed this early. 

Each time she gives him a goodnight kiss before leaving their room altogether to let him rest peacefully, he tugs her to his chest. She smiles and gives in, letting him hold her, even if it’s only for a few minutes before he’s snoring quietly in her ear because she loves being close to him. He’s warm in all the right places, and she finds him utterly handsome and adorable.

And, each time she re-enters their room to at least lie down with the iPad for a few hours to semi recharge, he’s buried beneath their comforter. Seriously, all she sees are his closed eyes, forehead, and messy hair. He’s always in what she calls his patented “Ben Ball,” where his knees are drawn to his chest, and there’s a hand curled under his cheek.

Sleeping patterns aside, there’s nothing she loves more than her dorky, absolutely boneable husband.


	32. Watcher vs. Scarer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a "who" prompt from the wonderful sakurablossomstorm-blog. 
> 
> A.k.a. - Who watches scary/suspenseful movies, and who tries to scare them during the movie?

It’s not exactly a secret that Ben doesn’t really like scary movies.

Usually, he and Leslie don’t watch those types of films together; they share the love of more animated or comedic interests. They’ve watched Finding Nemo sixty-four times now and Halloweentown an additional thirty-one to that. They’ve seen When Harry Met Sally and E.T. and all of the Indiana Jones’s and each Star Wars film (yes, each) three times a piece (he still doesn’t know how he managed to accomplish that, by the way, but he’ll take it).

But it’s October thirtieth, and they’re almost two year old triplets are exhausted from a day of Trick Or Treating around City Hall. He still feels bad because Wesley just wasn’t having any of it. He doesn’t particularly enjoy people covering up their actual faces and pretending to be someone else, so Ben spent most of the time in his office with the toddler, watching Claymation and sharing an occasional miniature Hershey’s Bar from the bowl Leslie left on his desk.

So when Leslie suggests they watch The Blair Witch Project, he almost stops dead in his tracks. Because they’re fresh from the shower, and he’s teetering on the edge of exhaustion from barely sleeping the past five nights because the kids haven’t been feeling the best. It had been an odd combination of Sonia being wide awake between midnight and four AM with a runny nose and cough, Stephen refusing to eat anything solid, and Wesley sleeping in until ten every morning. Thankfully, though, they seem to be over whatever it is was.

“Why do you wanna watch that?” he questions, pulling a quilt over both of their legs.

“Because tomorrow’s Halloween, and we’ve never watched a scary movie together!”

He shakes his head. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Oh, it is. I’ve chronicled every movie we’ve seen in my movie scrapbooks. Nothing even remotely scary.”

“Hey, Marley and Me is pretty terrifying. The ending still haunts me,” he points out.

“Beeennnn,” she whines. “Please.”

He shrugs. “Okay. Fine. But we’re leaving the kitchen light on.”

“What? No!” she shouts, but then quickly lowers her voice because of the kids. “Wait, are you scared?”

“Me? No. Psshh... Why would I be scared?”

Leslie nudges him. “You’re totally scared, babe. Don’t worry; you can hold on to me as tightly as you want.”

~

He takes Leslie up on that offer. Because, by the time the frightening things actually start happening, he’s squeezing on to her arm like it’s his only lifeline, and his heart slams in his chest. Horror movies aren’t his thing; he enjoys movies that make him think and alter his perception of reality and cause deep moments to occur. 

Not this. Definitely not this.

And she doesn’t leave the kitchen light on either, which causes sweat to build in his hairline, even though the house is fairly chilly. He wants to run and flip on every light possible, even though he’s financially conscious of everything that goes on behind these walls and enjoys being as efficient as possible. He wants to burrow into Leslie’s neck and hide for eternity, but... Hiding is dark. Dark is bad. And he’s positive he’s never ever going camping again.

Ever.

Not that he planned to anyway (other than maybe a cute backyard campout with the triplets).

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Leslie announces, and she gets up without even pausing the movie.

Ben shuffles around for the remote, biting his lower lip when she tells him it’ll just be a second and to let it keep playing. But no. There’s absolutely no way in hell that’s happening. He’s a big enough man to admit that the only reason he hasn’t spiraled out of control is because his wife’s here, grounding him and holding on to him and being his crutch throughout this ordeal.

Except it’s pitch black. And there’s screaming in the background. And Ben suddenly feels way too vulnerable and tucks his legs beneath him so nothing can grab them. And he keeps watching. Keeps getting further immersed into this nightmarish world, and he really wishes Leslie would hurry up. He wants to turn on Finding Nemo and forget this mess.

But then there’s two hands clamping down on his shoulders, and he screams.

Loudly.

Way way way too loudly for a forty-something year old man.

Leslie cackles and flips on the living room lights, and Ben gasps for air, holding his hands to his chest and trying to regulate his breathing. 

“Ha! Sucka!” she exclaims, leaning in for a high-five.

Ben shakes his head and continues to struggle with this whole “air is good” concept.

She’s still giggling away when they hear three sets of cries from upstairs.


	33. Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one word prompt from sakurablossomstorm-blog.

“No!” Leslie shouts. “Ben, fix this!”

But it’s kind of hard to get her husband to fix anything when he’s protectively cradling their almost one year old son on the couch. Their smallest baby is wrapped in a blanket, lying on his father’s chest and sleeping soundly for the first time in over forty-eight hours. And, even though the power’s out, and the nearest flashlight is in the kitchen, her husband stays calm, a quality that, under normal circumstances, he’s never very good at keeping.

She’d been decorating their Christmas tree with the newest strand of purple lights she’d found on bargain at Fred’s Wheels, Deals, and Other Things, and the lamps began flickering, and the TV turned off; she suspects Ben might be irritated once he figures out the newest episode of Shark Tank just stopped mid-recording. But it’s a freaking blizzard outside, and poor Wesley’s got a cold, and it’s been an all around crappy day for the Knope-Wyatt’s.

“Les,” he whispers. “Can you light a candle or find a flashlight?”

“Well, that’ll be hard because I kinda can’t see anything.”

She hears Ben sigh and start to shuffle positions when he stops. “Wait. Check under the couch.”

Okay, she can do that. Because she’s already extremely close to the couch anyway, and she just has to avoid running into the coffee... table.

Yeah, the coffee table.

She massages her temple before feeling around beneath their sofa until her hand comes into contact with something tiny and wet. Ew. Whoa. Why is it wet? This isn’t a part of the deal, Wyatt. He had no right to send her down here. But Leslie flicks her thumb, and the room is filled with a thin stream of light, and she sits back up to see Ben staring at her.

“What do we do until the electricity turns back on?” she says quietly.

He shrugs, motioning to Wesley with his head. “I dunno. I’m afraid to wake him. He’s exhausted.”

Leslie nods and finds herself wanting nothing more than to snuggle and cuddle their baby back to health; if only it were that simple. Because Wesley really hasn’t been feeling well, and he’s been so fussy and uncomfortable, and she can’t stand to see him like this. But they’ve been keeping him closed off from Sonia and Stephen, so hopefully neither of them will catch it. At least she absolutely hopes they won’t. One sick baby is awful and terrible, but three sick babies all at once is a nightmare that usually ends in both Leslie and Ben getting sick too.

“I wanna go get Sonny and Stephen, but I don’t want them to get what Wes has,” she tells him. “We could have a good family snuggle.”

Ben smiles. “I like the sound of that too, but Wes...”

“I guess it’s separate snuggles tonight. I’m gonna go relax with our two healthy little reindeer. Are you okay down here?”

He nods, and Leslie heads to the kitchen to retrieve the other flashlight for him just in case, narrowly avoiding running in multiple things, including a pileup of Legos and dog toys (but, yet, they don’t even have a dog...) in the middle of the dining room. She kisses Ben and the top of Wesley’s head before covering them both up with a large quilt and heading upstairs.

It’s not exactly an ideal way to spend the night, especially since Leslie and Ben haven’t not slept in the same bed in years, but the power’s out, and their babies are safe, and, in the end, that’s all that really matters.


	34. Graceful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another one word prompt from the wonderful sakurablossomstorm-blog.

“Dad, do we have to go?” Stephen whines as Ben buckles him and his other son in their car seats. But all he honestly cares about is getting in and warming up because it’s a gross, rainy October evening, and he doesn’t know how or why it’s starting to snow, but it is. Of course, he wants to see his little girl too, but his fingers and toes are numb, and, even though he just saw Leslie a couple hours ago, he misses the hell out of his wife.

He nods. “Yes, buddy. We’re going to support your sister. So no crying or yelling or fighting with each other. Agreed?”

Wesley nods immediately, while Stephen crosses his arms over his chest.

Yeah, that looks about right.

Ben doesn’t even bother to climb back out of the vehicle; he just crawls to the front seat, earning quiet giggles from the boys. He leaves on his gloves and hat, teeth chattering as he fumbles with the heat. Wesley and Stephen are nestled in puffy coats and blankets, tucked in and cozy, while Ben thinks his balls are actually turning blue due to the lack of warmth downstairs.

He figures his sons would be bickering or at least playing, seeing as that’s usually what five year olds do and such. But he glances at them through the rear-view mirror, grinning when he sees that they’re fast asleep. Stephen’s head is tipped to the side, and Wesley’s mouth is hanging wide open; Leslie hopes that none of the triplets inherit his snoring. So far, so good on that approach. 

They arrive at the recital hall a few minutes later. It’s busy, overflowing with tiny people in tutus, skirts, and dresses, and Ben begins the taxing responsibility of carrying both kids inside without slipping and falling on his ass. He huffs and puffs, and Wesley latches himself around his neck, while Stephen presses himself against his chest. They’re like two little marshmallowy kindergartners who are exhausted from a day of school and learning and playing.

“Hey!” Leslie says, heading straight for them when they enter the building. She instantly grabs Stephen, and Ben lets out of a sigh of relief. He’s getting too old to be shuffling so many of them around all at once. Sometimes, even almost six years later, it’s hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that they have triplets. That’s three whole babies that came out of Leslie at once. “Sonia’s class is up in about fifteen minutes.”

Ben nods, kissing his wife with his cold lips and smiling when she wipes the snow off his cheeks. 

Honestly, ballet isn’t really anyone in the house’s “thing,” but Leslie and Ben are supportive of whatever the kids want to do. Sonia loves to dance, Wesley loves dinosaurs and science, and Stephen loves pretending to be a policeman (which Ben can’t help but panic over, even though he’s five, and it’s fine and kind of adorable). And the fact that Sonia easily shares the same passionate energy her mom has makes her a rockstar at everything she does. 

And, the second he spies his daughter up on that stage with her head held high and dancing ever-so gracefully, tears swell in his eyes. Because it’s taken Ben a long time to find a place in his life where’s truly happy, and Sonia’s so perfect and beautiful, and she looks just like Leslie. He glances to his right, staring in awe where his wife sits with Stephen in her lap only to look down at the little boy in his own lap. And he gazes back up to that stage and watches Sonia.

Everything about all of them is purely perfect.


	35. Satisfied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one word prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

“Well, they look satisfied,” Ben quietly notes, gesturing to their three kids passed out on the floor. 

Yeah, passed out. Because they totally are.

It’s been a very long, very busy, very tiring Christmas, filled with Leslie’s mom helping them prepare dinner and Ben’s parents flying in from Minnesota. While Steve and Ulani hunkered down in their guest bedroom, Ben’s mom Julia opted to stay in a hotel to get away from his dad. It definitely wasn’t his ideal day, but he purposefully took a beta-blocker (and another one when the original wore off) so his nerves wouldn’t let him crumble during his holiday with the babies.

Honestly, the beta-blocker helped, but not by much. Leslie pulled him into their bathroom to try to sooth his frazzled energy, which ended with her tugging down his slacks and giving him a quicky in the tub. So, no, he guesses he really can’t complain too much. Because Stephen tried turkey for the first time and fell head over heels in love and wouldn’t stop stealing pieces from Ben and Leslie’s plates. Because Sonia danced in the living room for hours to everything from Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree all the way to Blue Christmas, giggling and toddling and tumbling around. Because Wesley opened his presents with such excitement, such unaltered, unfiltered glee and eagerly shared every single one of them with his brother and sister.

And because Leslie’s here with him, holding his hand as they stretch out on the couch. They put their holiday themed socked feet up on the coffee table, and he smiles when she yawns, cuddling into his chest. He wraps his arm around her and tugs her closer, covering her with a fuzzy flannel moose blanket she bought him almost seven years ago at this point. Because they’ve been together forever, and he can’t imagine ever being anywhere else in the galaxy. 

“You okay?” she whispers softly, rubbing his stomach. “Your heart’s beating really fast.”

He nods, planting a kiss in her hair and grinning. “I’m great.”


	36. Remorse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another one word prompt from the amazing BenjisCoolTimes.

“I-I didn’t mean t-to,” Sonia whimpers in Ben’s sore ear, clutching her tiny arms around his neck. Tears trickle down his skin, soaking into his hoodie, and he rubs her trembling back. Actually, all thirty-six pounds of her shivers and shakes, and he feels his heart snapping in two. A four year old should never ever feel this bad, and he doesn’t know how to make it any better, other than re-trying what he’s been doing for two days since Leslie and the boys went out of town.

He gently carries her upstairs, and she coughs so hard he’s pretty afraid she’ll puke on him this time. It’s okay if she does, but he’d rather her go at it in a safe zone, such as the bathroom or a trashcan of some sort. But, seriously, he’d rather her not have to deal with this in the first place, but that isn’t the card they’ve been dealt. He has to find a way to make her feel better; he just has to. Because it’s been over forty-eight hours of upset tummies and fevers, and he’s spinning his wheels, unable to even imagine what this feels like to an unsuspecting preschooler. 

“Shh, honey. It’s okay,” he whispers as he sets her on the ground by the bathtub, only to have her cling at his sweatpants. He sniffles and wipes his own snot on his sleeve, kneeling to get Sonia undressed as warm water fills the surface area. She coughs some more, and Ben watches her face go from pale and flushed to sickly green, so he instantly turns her in the direction of the toilet, holding her hair from her face and grimacing. She’s so small, so little. How is this happening to her? She should be in bed, surrounded by stuffed animals and dreaming of ponies or chocolate or... something else. 

Not this. Definitely not this.

“I-I’m sorry,” his daughter apologizes.

“What?” he says nasally. “No, baby. Don’t say sorry. Daddy’ll clean it up.”

And the fact that Sonia feels remorseful about accidentally vomiting on the couch and floor speaks volumes to him about how bad this is, how bad she feels. And he has to help her. He has to make her feel better. But she collapses against him, hair messy with only one arm out of her shirtsleeves. She needs to rest. It’s been a horrific few days, and Leslie’s gone, and he thinks he’s drowning. Because this totally isn’t happening, and his little girl isn’t this sick.

He manages to get Sonia in the water without any further instances. She cries as he washes her hair and body, causing tears to momentarily swell in his own eyes. Usually, she’s the triplet that loves bath time; she enjoys splashing around and playing with her toys and getting some well-earned time away from her brothers. But completes this bath in record timing, drying her off and cozying her up in the fuzziest pajama bottoms she owns and one of his t-shirts just in case of another unfortunate accident.

“No, Daddy,” she sobs when he tries to put in his and Leslie’s bed. She’s okay with it at first until she realizes Ben is leaving, and that’s only so he can clean up the mess downstairs. “Don’t go!” And he’s torn, so immensely torn. Because everything needs to be sanitized, but he doesn’t want to have Sonia stay here alone either. It’s definitely not ideal, but he takes her with him, placing her in the recliner underneath a blanket, kissing her forehead.

Thankfully, he gets everything up without aymore issues. He washes his hands and ignores the achy chill in his bones, walking over to the chair with intentions of heading back to bed with his daughter in tow, but Sonia’s mostly asleep, reaching out for him as soon as she spots him. “Wanna stay here?” he asks quietly. He’s kind of grateful when she nods, and he maneuvers her to where she’s cuddled on his chest, buried beneath a large quilt.

“Are you mad at me?” she questions after a long stretch of silence, so long Ben’s halfway unconscious himself.

He rubs her back beneath his Letters to Cleo shirt. “Absolutely not. You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetie.”

Sonia nods, curling into him and reaching a small hand out to pet his stubble, a habit she has yet to break from infancy.

“Love you, Daddy,” she whispers softly.

He grins, planting a kiss in her hair. “Love you too, Sonny.”


	37. "I'm not stuck; just help me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another dialogue prompt from the lovely sakurablossomstorm-blog.

“Ben, you hate the attic! Why are you even up there?” she calls. 

She hears some ruffling and shuffling, and there are two sets of boyish cackles coming from above her. “It’s not my fault, honey!” he tells her, but he’s still nowhere to be seen. But then there’s a flash of green and then blue, and oh God. Wesley and Stephen? How the hell did they get there? This has to be some kind of trick because Ben never goes into the attic. Apparently, it’s a crazy nightmare hoarder’s nest that may or may not be home to a few friendly bats. 

Leslie climbs the rickety stairs, and uh uh. Those monsters are so coming down here. It’s not even technically safe for either of the adults to be up there, so these double trouble seven year olds have no reason to do anything near the attic. She pokes her head in, and her sons instantly stop dead in their tracks, each with a leery, worried, conniving expression plastered on their faces.

That is before Stephen shouts, “Run away from Momma Dragon!” and somehow scooches in between her and the steps, whisking through the second level of their house. Wesley, of course, follows, and the boys go of shrieking and screaming, and wow. What the fudge was that? She doesn’t even know, but what she does know is that her husband’s sneezing because of the dust and effectively trapped beneath a large pile of cardboard boxes.

Ben just eyes her the second he spies her. “I’m not stuck; just help me,” he says, coughing after.

So Leslie complies, and she has no idea what this is. “Um, you kinda look like you’re stuck.”

He shakes his head.

“Then stand up,” she commands.

Another sneeze rockets through him, and he grumbles, “Will you help me already?”

She pulls box after box off of him until he’s wheezing, but standing. There’s a gash on his elbow, and he’s absolutely filthy, but Leslie finds herself kissing him anyway. “What happened?”

He shrugs, grabbing her hand. “Attics are evil. And, also, our sons might be evil too. We should really look into that.”


	38. Dancing in the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

She’s been eagerly, impatiently waiting for him to return from D.C. for five whole days. Five long, exhausting, mind-numbing days. Five days of only Skyping for less than twenty minutes total. Five days of without cuddling or hugging or holding hands or kissing or watching TV shows together. Five days without his cooking. God, she missed him in every sense imaginable; she has no idea what her life was like before him, but, honestly and seriously, it must’ve sucked to some degree.

Because being without Ben Wyatt for any significant length of time blows.

The second she sees his car pull into the driveway, she’s out the door, her heart pounding into her chest as her pulse skyrockets. “You’re home!” Leslie shouts, immediately running to her husband, who’s holding a briefcase over his head in the middle of a summer thunderstorm. It’s near the end of July, and she’s almost three months pregnant with their babies, and he left her for so long. Way too long. “I missed you so much!” 

She latches around him, and it doesn’t matter for even a fraction of a second that they’re both getting soaked to the bone. He tugs her closer to him, kissing her with his beautiful, perfect Ben lips. He’s warm and snuggly in all the right places, and how was he gone for so long? She used to be so independent; she never felt like she needed a man. But she needs Ben to make her feel whole, and she honestly sees absolutely nothing wrong with that anymore.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against her skin, and, eventually, they just end up swaying in the middle of their driveway in the rain. And it’s nice. It’s so nice to have him here in her arms, to where she can actually see his smile and have to stand up on her tip toes to kiss him hello and need to be hugged a million times before he eventually falls asleep holding on to her. 

There’s no music, no clichés, and no dramatic dance moves, but it’s peaceful and quiet, and it makes Leslie so extremely happy to be his wife.


	39. Flesh Against Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another prompt from the lovely BenjisCoolTimes.

Tears sting his eyes as the nurse carefully places Stephen on his bare chest, covering up the fragile newborn with a small blanket. He shivers and feels the tiny baby wiggle against his own flesh. Ben sucks in a breath of air and tries desperately not to let the tears fall, to calm his heart rate to a reasonable level. He really should’ve brought a few more Xanax with him, but everything happened so quickly, and Leslie’s water broke so early, and he didn’t have time to think.

“Are you okay?” a different nurse questions. Everything’s new and confusing, and there are members of medical staff everywhere, a team of three to four people attending to their premature triplets. “You’re white as a ghost. Do you want me to take him?”

But he instantly shakes his head and swallows thickly, shakily. “N-No. I’m alright.” He sinks into the squishy chair a bit more, reclining back slightly and kissing his son on the top of his head. There are too many wires and tubes and monitors, and the hustle and bustle’s starting to cause Ben’s nerves to soar higher and higher, and he’s about to jump out of his own skin.

“How about we give you two some space, huh?” she says. 

Ben nods, but he doesn’t offer anything else. Eventually, their little section of the NICU is empty, even if it’s only for a couple of minutes. He glances at Sonia and Wesley in their incubators and at Stephen on his chest and promptly lets the tears stream down his cheeks as he hiccups. They’re all so tiny, so small, still not ready to be out here in the world quite yet. They were born almost nine weeks early, and Leslie’s not conscious yet, and he needs his wife. She knows exactly how to make him calm down when these kinds of things happen. 

He carefully, gently rubs Stephen’s back, willing his brain to stop going into overdrive for a few seconds and enjoy the feeling of his son against his flesh. He’s half him and half Leslie, and he’s so perfect. They’re all so perfect. 

And, for the first time during this chaotic, horrifying, amazing day, he’s actually calm.


	40. Pleasant Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a prompt from the wonderful fourthinobesity.

She finds him asleep, flat on his stomach and shirtless on their beach towel. He isn’t even under the umbrella; it’s as if he fell straight into a stream of unconsciousness the second he laid down after catching his breath from chasing their six year old triplets around in the sand. They’d left to appropriately go to the bathroom and grab some snacks at a nearby gas station while he stayed behind to “watch” their belongings. 

It’d been a long, tiring week in Florida filled with Disney World and age appropriate rides and searching Magic Kingdom for princesses and Minions. The kids had an endless supply of energy, which they all three received from her, but her husband’s different. He doesn’t function very well at high levels of stress, no matter how welcomed that stress may be, and it’s definitely caught up to him. He’s snoring and everything. It’s loud too.

“DOG PILE!” Stephen shouts, rubbing his hands together as he prepares to pounce on his father, but Leslie stops him.

“No way, pal. Why don’t you guys go back to building your sandcastle?”

Their triple cherries agree immediately. Sonia starts barking orders, Stephen threatens to destroy what they’ve built so far, and Wesley stands there with his arms crossed over his chest while he rolls his eyes. Seems about right. But Leslie turns her attention to Ben, who has yet to stir. And wow. Holy cow. He’s going to be so incredibly sunburnt later. Because he’s pale and pasty and didn’t have enough common sense to pass out under their umbrella that’s literally two feet away.

She gently shakes his shoulder, and he snorts awake immediately. “Huh?” He rolls over and pushes himself into a sitting position, yawning and running a hand through his damp hair. “How long was I out?”

Leslie giggles. “Long enough to earn yourself a wicked sunburn.”

But, instead of earning a classic Ben freak out (the good kind, not the bad), he just shrugs in response. There are purple smudges beneath his eyes, and his shoulders are slouched, and she figures it probably doesn’t help that lately Sonia’s been refusing to sleep in a bed separate from them, which typically leads to a lot of bed hogging. They’re staying at a beach house literally up the hill from here, and he’s been forced to snooze on the couch every night. And, of course, Stephen loves to stay up late (or sometimes never fall asleep) like her, so he keeps Ben nice and occupied when they’re supposed to be resting and relaxing.

“How about you go take an actual nap in an actual bed?” she suggests. “You definitely need one.”

But Ben instantly shakes his head, slightly pointing a finger at their kids. “And miss this?” he asks with a crooked grin. “No way. No amount of sunburn in the world could ruin this for me.” 

He stands up and grabs her hand as they walk over to help their triple cherries with their sandcastle.


	41. "Do it now, or we won't have sex for a month."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a dialogue prompt from emmylovestv.

He’s snuggled up beneath a mound of blankets, snoring loudly through muddled congestion. All she sees is messy hair, closed eyes, and flushed cheeks, and she wants nothing more than to wrap around him and share some of her warmth. Because she’s five months pregnant and hasn’t seen her husband in almost three days after an unfortunate diagnosis of strep throat that made him flee to a motel in order to not infect her. It was totally and definitely unnecessary, but she kind of understands why he did it.

But now he’s back at home and not entirely up to par, even with the aid of antibiotics, and it’s her duty to help him. And this absolutely includes coaxing him to bed rather than spending the night on the couch. It’s after two AM, and she’s just now starting to feel wiped out, and she knows she shouldn’t have let him sleep for this long because he’s probably really deep into his rest and relaxation cycle now. Crap on a cracker. 

Except he needs proper cuddles in a proper bed. A bed that has giant, fluffy pillows and a thick comforter to keep them warm in the October chill and marvelously soft sheets. Their bed would make that motel bed he slept in cry itself into a coma with how awful it is. She already figures this isn’t going to go well, so she carefully settles herself on the edge of the sofa; she desperately wants to run her fingers through his hair, but that wouldn’t be helpful in this situation. 

“Honey,” she says, letting her hand rest against his forehead briefly before slightly, softly shaking his shoulder. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Ben grumbles and whines and manages to pull the covers over his face. He curls harder into his patented Ben-ball, and oh no; that’s so not what’s going to happen. She pulls the blankets down to his waist, hoping it will inspire him to sit to tug on the fabric, that way she can half-haul him into a standing position. But that doesn’t happen, and he actually flips up the hood of his sweatshirt, crosses his arms, and drags his knees to his chest.

“Hey,” she whispers. “Babe, you need to sleep on an actual mattress tonight.”

In his defense, his throat most likely doesn’t feel the best, so he doesn’t give her a verbal answer. But he’s being terribly defiant and makes no efforts to cooperate. She gets it to an extent. He doesn’t feel good, and it’s understandable, but he should also know that this isn’t going to fly with her. She never lets him sleep on the couch when he’s sick. 

“Beennnn,” she groans. “Bed.”

He shakes his head and buries the side of his face into the pillow. 

“Do it now, or we won’t have sex for a month.”

And, what do you know, that makes him instantly get to his feet, and Leslie grabs his hand as she guides him upstairs to their bedroom. She chuckles and stands on her tip toes to kiss his cheek and can’t help but smile. Because pregnant sex is amazing, and Ben’s amazing at sex period, and she’s been horny as fuck the past few days but hasn’t gotten any action. 

Okay, so maybe her scare tactic is aimed more toward her needs being catered than his, but still.

At least he’s slumbering peacefully in an actual bed now, her baby bump resting against his back.


	42. "Explain why the remote and Cheetos are in the bathroom."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another dialogue prompt from emmylovestv.

“Um, Wes?” Ben says, knocking quietly on the bathroom door. “You alright, buddy? You’ve been in there a long time.” Because, yeah, it’s not really that normal for an eight year old to hibernate near a toilet for this long. He swears it’s been at least forty-five minutes, but Sonia and Stephen’s incessant arguing took some persuasion, guidance, and possibly a bit of bribing to calm down. He saw his youngest triplet sulk up here forever ago, but this is the first chance he’s gotten to check on him.

“I’m good,” is the only response he receives. 

He gulps because, honestly, his heart’s thumping in his chest. What if Wesley is sick, and he’s not telling them? It is flu season, and school is full of germs, and Leslie herself had a cold all last week. “Can I come in?” he questions softly.

There’s some shuffling and crinkling before his son opens the door. He’s sitting on the bathroom floor with Ben’s iPad in hand and a Star Wars blanket covering his legs. Wesley pushes his glasses into position as Ben takes a seat beside him, pulling his knees toward his chest. And this room looks suspiciously like a hideout, complete with snacks and everything. His son doesn’t seem to pay much attention to him and continues watching Game of Thrones.

“Care to explain why the remote and Cheetos are in the bathroom?” Ben questions. “And also maybe why you’re hanging out in here?”

His youngest by mere minutes shrugs and ends up placing his head on his father’s arm. It’s moments like these where Wesley just really reminds Ben of himself. He’s shy and quiet and doesn’t enjoy making a big deal out of anything. And, believe it or not, Ben used to hide in the bathroom all the time with his cassette player and a novel to keep him occupied. 

“Is this about Stephen pushing you? Is your arm alright?” he asks.

Wesley shrugs again, but does mumble, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Hey, of course it matters, Wes.” He goes to wrap an arm around the boy’s shoulders, which just ends with Wesley climbing into his lap with limp hands latched around his neck. Ben rubs his back and feels the tears flow down his skin and tries not to let his heart shatter into a million tiny pieces. Because he hates seeing any of his babies sad, and they’ll always be his babies whether they’re eight months, eight years, or thirty-eight years old. This is no different.

Wesley sniffles, but he doesn’t make additional efforts to say anything, so Ben just continues to knead the flesh around his spine and hold on to his son. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he settles down to where he’s no longer hiccuping or crying, and Ben kisses the top of his head.

“How about this?” he starts. “Let’s get the bathroom cleaned up a bit and then we’ll finish this episode on the TV in the big bedroom?” 

Wesley nods and smiles, and Ben pats him on the shoulder.


	43. "Where would I be without you?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a dialogue prompt from sakurablossomstorm-blog.

Seeing Leslie with their kids is easily the most adorable and hottest thing he’s ever seen. Honestly, they’re two confusing, conflicting, contradicting emotions that make him feel spinny and breathless, and, sometimes, he has absolutely no idea how he ever got so lucky. Because it’s almost six AM on a Sunday, and his wife’s probably been awake for hours now, and he’s freezing cold without her cuddled next to him. Their almost four year old daughter sits beside her on the couch, face nuzzled protectively into Leslie’s side as the duo peacefully watches Sophia the First.

“Morning,” he whispers, kissing her curly hair before rounding the side of the couch. 

His wife’s eyes immediately brighten, and he can’t help but smile at her. “Ben! It isn’t even six yet!” She makes room on the sofa for him, and Sonia instantly crawls over her mother and into his lap. He pulls a blanket over all three of them and rubs his baby girl’s back with one hand as Leslie grabs his other, entangling their fingers together as she places her head on his shoulder. “Why’re you up so early? Not that I’m unhappy about it, but it’s kinda strange, babe.”

“Couldn’t sleep, I guess. Missed you.”

She plants a kiss on his shoulder and snuggles harder. They sit there long enough that Sonia drifts off against him, and Leslie’s breathing slows down, and Ben’s eyes get heavier and heavier with each passing second. It’s been a rough few months between moving from Pawnee to Washington D.C., the kids starting pre-school, and Ben beginning his new job as a Congressman, but everything finally feels right and settled and like it’s exactly where they’re supposed to be.

“Daddy!” he hears two tiny voices call simultaneously. He grins as Stephen and Wesley come into his blurry sight; Stephen jumps on to the surface with a huge grin on his face, while Wesley climbs slowly as if to not disturb his mother or sister. But both of them wake up, and Sonia chatters with her brothers about their rock collection. Stephen’s cradled protectively in Leslie’s arms, while he mans Wesley and Sonia. He smiles as he listens to their stories.

And it’s at this moment that tears briefly swell in his eyes. Because he never thought he’d have this. He thought he’d be roaming every corner of Indiana with zero purpose in life, but then he found Leslie, and everything changed for the better.

“Where would I be without you?” he whispers in her ear as their kids continue to ramble excitedly to each other.

And Leslie just sits up and kisses his lips, hard and slow and sweet all at the same time, and he feels himself falling in love all over again.


	44. "Babe, that's my nose."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a dialogue prompt from sakurablossomstorm-blog.

It isn’t often that Ben’s a fidgety sleeper, but he just so happens to be on the one night Leslie is in desperate need of rest. It had been a ridiculously long day filled with grocery shopping and then taking their five year old triple cherries to a local D.C. waterpark. Stephen fell and scraped both of his knees, Wesley tossed his cookies after discovering cherry slushies were the best thing in existence, and Sonia refused to walk, clinging to her and Ben mercilessly.

To top it off, during the drive back to their house, Ben threw the SUV in park on the side of the freeway and decided to join Wesley in the vomiting fun. Leslie had sighed, barely able to hold it together long enough to step back into the mid-July heat to give him a clean shirt and have him drink some water. Because their kids were having three joint meltdowns at the same time, and their vehicle blared with unnecessarily shrill sounds as she took over driving and Ben rubbed at his forehead, covering his sunburnt face with her jacket.

Of course, the triplets fell asleep as soon as they were cleaned up, even though it was barely six PM. They only emerged from their upstairs bedroom when they smelled the pizza she’d ordered. Ben had showered and collapsed on their mattress in just his boxers, but he never woke up to eat dinner. After they’d munched on the slices of pepperoni and rehydrated with plenty of water, they shuttled themselves into bed without much of a goodnight. Their babies were worn to the core after such a fun, extensively stressful day of events. 

But now he’s rolling from side to side in their bed, and the snoring’s stopped altogether. And she knows she’s crazily in love with him because it’s so fucking loud most nights, but she can no longer sleep without it. Ben flew to Chicago to visit his brother a few weeks ago with the kids while she kept up on her newest time consuming project, and she didn’t rest well the entire four days they was gone. They’ve been married for seven years, and she can’t sleep without his incessantly annoying snoring, and that’s just bonkers to her.

She exhales loudly as her husband shifts once more. “Babe, that’s my nose,” she murmurs when a hand comes flying out of nowhere. Ben koalas around her for a very brief moment and then turns over once more. “Honey...” she whines, shaking his shoulder. Her eyes are just so heavy, and she urgently needs to close her mind off to thinking before she short-circuits.

“Huh?” he grumbles. “Time’s it?”

She glances at the clock on her bedside table. “Quarter til three.”

Bleh. That’s such a gross time.

“What’re you doin’ up?” he slurs sleepily. 

“You keep tossing and turning, and it’s really annoying, and you aren’t snoring, and I’m so tired...” She crosses her arms over her chest and wants nothing more than to close her eyes. The kids will probably be up super early since they went to bed quickly and easily, which means she won’t get time to unwind, and they have to pack for summer camp tomorrow, and she’s very very sleepy.

Ben frowns. “’m sorry, love. What d’you want me to do? Just name it.”

“Cuddle me, and make sure to snore.”

At that, he latches himself around her, and she snuggles into his chilly skin. His hair smells of mangos and strawberries, and she figures he may’ve used her shampoo by mistake while he was in such an exhausted stupor. He kisses her neck and rubs her hipbone. “I make no promises on the snoring,” he tells her.

She shrugs because she already feels herself drifting off in his embrace. She’s light and happy, and Ben’s wrapped around her, and it’s more than perfect.

And it’s even better when his snoring picks up just a few minutes later.


	45. “I warned you if you were late one more time...”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another dialogue prompt from the wonderful sakurablossomstorm-blog.

“This totally isn’t fair!” Stephen shouts. “Wes and Sonia get to come home late for school all the time!”

Ben eyes him carefully. “Buddy, please keep your voice down. You know your mom doesn’t feel well today.” His son nods and glances down at his feet. “And, listen, I get that you’re upset, but you broke the rules. You’re supposed to be home everyday right after school. No exceptions. Because you broke that rule, you have to face the consequences.”

Stephen’s always been their rule bender. At eleven years old, he’s brilliantly smart, but he doesn’t quite apply himself like his brother or sister. He’d rather be the one causing chaos, destruction, and trouble, and which is so not going to fly around here. “I was only there for an hour,” he tells him. “Not even an hour. More like forty-five to fifty minutes.”

“But I warned you if you were late one more time –” 

“Yeah, I’d be grounded. I get that. Can I go now?” Stephen asks.

Ben sighs and pats the cushion beside him on the couch. His son plops next to him, sighing heavily as he bounces his heel up and down on the carpet. Eventually, though, Stephen leans into his side, and Ben wraps an arm around him. Stephen’s not a bad kid, but he tends to push the boundaries more than Sonia and Wesley, a trait he’s positive he picked up from Leslie. But moving back to Pawnee really shook his world, and Ben has to understand where he’s coming from. He left all of his friends back in D.C., and he wants to play baseball here, but his grades aren’t up to par, and he keeps coming home late.

“I know you’re upset about moving,” Ben says.

Stephen shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine if you keep ignoring the rules.”

“I’m not ignoring them on purpose. A few guys on the team wanted me to be catcher today, and I just got carried away. I didn’t mean to come home late.”

“But you’re already grounded, and you know that.”

His son nods. “I know... I’m sorry.”

“Please come home from school on time tomorrow.”

“I will. I promise.”

“And everyday for the next three weeks.”

Stephen almost sighs, but Ben feels him stop himself. “Got it.” His son stands up after Ben kisses the top of his head, running upstairs to his room.


	46. “Do it, or I’ll shave your eyebrows.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a dialogue prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

Cleaning up after Andy and April’s Halloween party doesn’t particularly do Ben any favors. He’s up to his elbows in candy wrappers, toilet paper, and a surprisingly disturbing amount of unopened condoms, shivering in the briskness that is the first day of November. He doesn’t bother throwing on a jacket and is outside in just a pair of ripped jeans and a red flannel. The air sinks into his skin, and he feels his cheeks going numb, but it’s better than feeling entirely ripped open and exposed and humiliated. If it weren’t for the fact that messes make him extremely uneasy and panicky, he’d be passed out by now, drowning out the world with his snoring.

Snoring that used to drive Leslie nuts. So nuts she’d kick him in the shins with a bare, chilly foot, leaving bruises that wouldn’t go away for weeks. He shakes his head and tries to redirect his thoughts to a warm shower, settling down in bed, and watching Game of Thrones until unconsciousness dragged him under. Except he really hasn’t been sleeping lately. Like at all. Like it’s been a ridiculous amount of time since he slept for more than two hour intervals.

“Dude!” Andy shouts. Ben stops filing in gobs of trash into a nearly stuffed garbage bag to glance up at the man-child whose nose he broke last night. It’s swollen, red, and puffy, and he gulps, swallowing thickly. Because Ben’s used to getting shoved around a bit, whether it’s physically or mentally, so it wouldn’t be a surprise to him if Andy socked him one just to get even. “Can you drive me and April to the store? Halloween candy’s half price today!”

He scratches the back of his neck, resisting the urge to yawn. He doesn’t feel like doing anything other than cleaning this up and lying down. That’s it. There’s a headache building right behind his eyes, and he wants to hide beneath his comforter, never to return. “Um, can we do it some other time?” he asks quietly. “I... I’m kinda busy out here.”

“What other time?” April asks, coming outside too, and, great, three’s a crowd. “There won’t be any left if we wait.”

“Yeah, and I wanna get that giant thingy of gummy bears and eat them all in an hour or less.”

Ben grimaces. “An hour?”

“It’s his record, genius.” April tosses him his keys, which were protectively hidden in the top drawer of his dresser beneath his boxers. His roommates have literally zero sense of boundaries, and he sighs as he somehow manages to catch them without being freaked out. 

April and Andy fly toward his Saturn, and Ben shakes his head. “Can’t you just go alone?”

“Ew, gross. No,” April says. “We need a chauffer. Andy can’t drive with a broken nose.”

He glances down at the ground, staring at his dirty Chuck Taylors. “Fine. Then you guys can clean the rest of this up.”

“Sorry, no can do, boss,” Andy tells him.

April nods in affirmation. “You’ll do it, or I’ll shave your eyebrows off in your sleep.”

“Whatever,” Ben mumbles, unlocking his car as his pushy, supremely annoying roommates pile in.


	47. "What is this? 20 questions?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another dialogue prompt from the amazing BenjisCoolTimes.

It’s freezing, and Leslie watches her husband’s breath come out in erratic, unstable puffs as he angrily shovels the driveway. His movements are tense and rigid, and she doesn’t even know why he’s out here. After a pretty unpleasant phone conversation with his somewhat jerk of a father, he’d retreated inside himself, hastily pulled on his snow boots, and headed to the great outdoors to relieve some of the tension brewing in his gut.

Which, admittedly, isn’t his best decision because he isn’t wearing a hat or winter coat, and he literally just got over the flu. Leslie knows it’s best to give him time, but she can’t hold off any longer. Her heart thumps in her chest as she clears her throat. “Ben,” she says loudly so he can hear her over the incessant shoveling. He stops right away and stares at her with bloodshot eyes. “Do you want your jacket? Or a hat? Maybe some hot chocolate?”

He shakes his head. His cheeks are bright red, and he wipes his nose on his hoodie. She can’t stand seeing him like this. Most of the time, he’s able to process his emotions regarding her in a healthy, responsible manner, but that flips really hard when it comes to either of his parents. He shuts down and tries to block it out with whatever means necessary. Ben turns around and picks up where he left off, repetitive motion soothing his nerves but frazzling her own.

She steps carefully through the snow to where she’s standing in front of him. “Why don’t you come inside?”

But Ben glares at her. “What is this? 20 questions?” he asks. “Please just... leave me alone.”

Leslie frowns, but she stops him again anyway. Because this isn’t how he’s going to resolve problems. She takes his gloved hand, and Ben ultimately wraps his arms around her, hiding his cold face in her neck. He’s trembling all over, and Leslie hears the sniffing and doesn’t even flinch when he coughs wetly against her skin. Sometimes, she hates Steve Wyatt. Almost every time he calls, it ends with Ben being very upset, and she hates seeing him like this.

“How about we take a hot shower together?” she whispers. “And then we can relax and watch movies the rest of the day.”

Ben nods, but he doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he kisses her lightly and lets out a breathy, “I love you,” that makes her shiver.


	48. “The ladies love a guy who’s good with kids.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a dialogue prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

He guesses it really doesn’t matter how either of them looks because it happens anyway.

Everyone is under the weather, and he just barely had the fortitude to come to the store and grab a few items for his sick family with Sonia practically glued to his chest. She’s been feeling especially awful today, congested with a raw cough and upset tummy, and she absolutely refuses to be anywhere other than in his arms. He tried to use the cart when they first arrived because his entire body hurts, but she melted down the second her butt touched the seat.

And he feels so terrible, but not just in a physical sense. His poor babies are about to turn one, and he can’t imagine them being so ill during their party this upcoming weekend. At some point, Wesley caught what he and his wife thought was a cold; they knew it would spread throughout all of them, but they definitely weren’t prepared for the flu. Then Stephen started puking, and Sonia started barking up her lungs, leaving him and Leslie virtually useless as the warning signs of their own impending doom kicked into overdrive.

He rubs his daughter’s back soothingly and tries not to drop the medicine tucked beneath his left arm. He was going to grab some orange juice, cans of soup, and a couple boxes of tissues, but he’s lacking in the hands department, and he just wants to go home. Ben tucks a fit of wet coughing into his shoulder, which jars Sonia. He’s anticipating a scream with a scrunched face as he rounds the corner of the store toward the checkout when this weird lady stops him.

“Aw, she’s so cute!” 

And he’s taken aback. It may or may not be because of the germs ravaging their way through his broken system. He blinks and sniffles and clings to his daughter a little tighter, dreaming of his wife and warm blankets and a dose of actual NyQuil to clear some of his stuffy achiness. “Um...” he mumbles, biting his lower lip. “Thank you?”

But it comes out more like a question than a statement of politeness.

“And so are you! I really like your jacket! Who makes it?”

Good lord. Is this lady being serious right now? He glances around the store to make sure he isn’t being punked, but no one’s acting suspicious. She’s around his age with whatever color hair and a strange looking face, but he didn’t put his contacts in, and he honestly can’t care less about this situation. He wants to go home. He wants to lie down with his wife and babies. 

He looks down at the blue coat he’s bundled in, and Sonia shifts against his chest. “Uh, Target?”

And, thankfully (or unthankfully) his sick almost one year old bursts into tears, shrieking and wailing. He skids away from the strangeness unfolding and checks out with Sonia crying into his already sore ear. Was that woman hitting on him? No, right? He’s been in a relationship with the marvelous Leslie Knope for years and years, and he was never great at flirting in the first place. Hm. Maybe it was the hair? Leslie always tells him he has great hair when he’s sick...

But, soon, the crazy lady is long forgotten. 

He gets Sonia inside where it isn’t sleeting, gives her some medicine that allows her to get some much needed rest in her crib without begging for him to stay, kisses both of his sons’ overheated foreheads, and lies down on the mattress beside his wife. Leslie’s starfished out, and he pecks her warm neck before snuggling into her side, shivering violently despite the thick comforter.

“Ben?” she mumbles, turning her head to look at him with barely slit open eyes. “You were gone a really long time.” She coughs instantly after, and he palms her back gently. She sputters and positions herself to where she’s lying on his chest with his arm wrapped around her. 

He nods, already feeling his brain start to shut down due to the medicine. He’s praying for at least two hours of rest before the babies wake up. “I know. I’m sorry. This lady stopped me and said Sonia was cute and that I was cute and asked me where my jacket was from. It was weird.” 

“Oh, Benji got flirted with.”

He shrugs. “Guess so.”

“I don’t blame her. Your butt is fantastic, but you’re just alright face-wise.”

He chuckles at that. “Just alright? You married ‘just alright?’”

“There weren’t many options left,” she comments, and this is seriously the first time he hasn’t felt nearly as crappy in almost four days. “Plus, ladies love a guy who’s good with kids.”

“Is that so?” he questions, and Leslie yawns against his skin. “Go back to sleep, goofball. I love you.”

Leslie hums softly. “I love you too, my sexy triple daddy.”


	49. “How could I ever forget about you?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a dialogue prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

Ben’s out of town, and Leslie’s positive she’s about lose her freaking mind. Their five year old triple cherries have stopped being cute, adorable, cherries and turned into triple terrors. Stephen keeps stealing toys, Sonia keeps yelling, “What a shit head!” at anyone and everything, Wesley’s glasses are currently broken due to a fight, and she keeps confusing him and Stephen like the awful mother she’s becoming. Seriously, Ben did this for an entire week and a half, and she can’t even manage them for four days while he visits his mother who’s in the hospital with a broken hip.

And being without him is like being without oxygen or the sun. It’s like not eating waffles for a whole three days, which just so happens to be her record, and it was during her pregnancy during those periods where, unfortunately, waffles just didn’t agree with her; she’s still bitter about it. But there’s no one to tag team responsibilities with, and she’s a terrible cook, so the kids have only eaten grilled cheese and hot dogs for the past forty-eight hours. 

“Get away from me!” she hears Stephen scream, breaking her from a brief glance down at her phone. Ben texted her something, but she tucks the device in her jeans before she has a chance to even read it. Sonia’s poking at her brother with a stick. An actual stick. Where the fudge did she get that? It’s Christmas break, and they haven’t been outside in quite some time due to the awful, frightening weather. Do they have sticks in this house? Like in a hidden pile or something? 

Of course, this prompts Sonia to shout, “What a shit head!” 

And the fuck does she keep repeating that ov– 

Oh, wait. 

Whatever; she’s still not happy about it.

Leslie huffs and scrubs a hasty hand down her cheek. She’s trying to keep it together, honestly. But she misses Ben like crazy, and he always knows exactly how to calm her down, and he isn’t here. Won’t be here for at least another day and a half. God, she’s a horrible mother. They’re her crazy monster babies, and she loves them to bits and pieces, but this? This is a nightmare.

“Sonny, please stop bothering your brother.”

And, for once, it’s actually Sonia instigating a fight with an annoying act; Stephen’s just sitting on the living room floor quietly playing with his action figures.

“No!” she shouts. “He’s a shit head! He keeps stealing all of my toys!”

“Okay,” Leslie says. “You’ve got to stop calling people that, Sonia. It’s not very nice.”

Her daughter scowls and crosses her arms over her chest, and has she always looked so much like her? And acted like her?

But they’re in a squawking match moments later. 

“Momma?” she hears a tiny voice from behind her as she tries to separate the two kids. But Stephen accidentally kicks her in the stomach, and Sonia pulls at her brother’s hair, and, holy hell, how is this even happening? Of course, though, they haven’t been sleeping during their daily nap, and they’re at the time of day where meltdowns happen one after the other after the other. They just need to relax and unwind from their busy day of playing.

“Yes, Ste–” She stops herself right away, but she’s too busy to say anything further. Somehow, by the graces of whoever, she gets each of them in a separate location and to not disturb each other anymore for the time being; it takes a minute to realize that Wesley’s on the couch with his knees pulled to his chest, effectively shielding his face from her as his body shakes. She sits beside him and tries to pull him close to her, but he doesn’t allow that. “What’s wrong?”

“You always forget about me,” he whispers.

Her heart shatters instantly. God, what the actual fudge is wrong with her? She loves all three of her kids to the moon and back. They’re part of her. She grew them in her uterus. And to hear those words come out of a five year old’s mouth sends her jaw to the floor and her heart to her toes. Wesley’s their most sensitive child, but he tends to keep his emotions mostly hidden until he can’t anymore; he’s definitely his father’s son. 

“Buddy, how could I ever forget about you?” 

Wesley shrugs at the question and has yet to make eye contact with her. “When’s Daddy coming home?”

It makes this sting even more, and Leslie frowns. Okay. Nope. She’s not having her baby boy feel this way. She lifts her youngest triplet into her arms, and, to her surprise, he reciprocates, latching around her. A few of his tears dribble down her neck, and he’s trembling, and, holy smokes, she doesn’t know how in the world she’s this bad at being Wesley’s mother.

“He’ll be home in a few days,” she answers first; it’s best not to leave anything hanging with him (another quality he gets directly from Ben himself). “Wes, you don’t actually think I’d ever forget about you, right?”

Wesley shrugs again, sighing. “You’re always busy with Stevie and Sonia... I feel like you don’t remember me.”

This makes Leslie cuddle him harder, running her hands through his soft brown hair with tears swelling in her own eyes. Okay, this stops now. She never wants any of her kids to feel any negative emotions ever, but it’s bound to happen. And this isn’t one she needs a repeat performance of. Maybe Wesley’s sort of right? These past few days have been rough, and Stephen and Sonia typically take up a good hunk of her attention because they bicker so much. But that isn’t right, not even in the slightest, to Wesley.

Which is probably why he values when Ben’s home because they watch Claymation videos and eat calzones, and Wesley always tells him stories.

“Of course I remember you. Please don’t ever think I forget about you,” she tells him. “You’re so special, Wes. You’re smart and funny and very kind. I’m sorry you haven’t been getting a lot of my attention these past few days, but that’s about to change, okay?”

She pats his back, and Wesley raises his head from her chest to glance skeptically at her. 

“We’re going to have Mommy and Wesley time tonight. We’ll do whatever you want.”

He smiles, but then he immediately withdraws. “What about Stevie and Sonia?”

“Well, mister, they’ll be in bed. It’s just us, okay?”

His eyes widen, and he grins crookedly. “Really? I get to stay up past bedtime?”

She nods. “Just don’t tell your brother or sister.”

Wesley kisses her cheek and wraps around her like a tiny, baby koala. He doesn’t say anything, but his actions speak louder than words ever will.


	50. "Please put your penis away."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another dialogue prompt from the great BenjisCoolTimes.

“Uh, h-honey?” she hears Ben stammer from the living room where their two and a half year old triplets are playing.

She gets up from the kitchen table, leaving her binders and paperwork. She pops her back and is in the process of yawning when she sees what her husband obviously called her in here for. “Um...” she manages to get out. “What is he doing?” Her eyes widen, and her pulse quickens, and their son’s a little too young for this, right? 

Of course, she vividly remembers both Stephen and Wesley shoving their hands in their diapers when they were just babies, but they’re active and happy toddlers who have no business doing what Stephen’s doing right now.

Ben’s brown orbs are locked on their son, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I think he’s –”

Leslie shakes her head. “Do not even think about finishing that sentence, Wyatt.” 

“But it’s true!” he states incredulously. “Look at him! He’s –”

“Nope. Nuh uh, Benjamin. Don’t talk about our precious baby boy that way.” Leslie scoops Stephen up in her arms (admittedly a bit reluctantly based upon what they just witnessed), and the two year old shrieks. “Please put your penis away,” she tells him. “Permanently and forever until you’re old enough for this to make any sense at all to me.”

She and Ben exchange nervous glances, and she watches Ben eye a still innocent Wesley a bit more carefully.


	51. “The kids, they ambushed me.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a dialogue prompt from waffles-junior.

It’s a quiet day at the Knope-Wyatt household until it isn’t. Because, suddenly, it’s very very loud, and it forces Ben to glance up from his paperwork for the first time in ten entire minutes, which is an eternity here. None of their three year old monsters have ran around in the home office, ducking under the desk and latching on to his legs to tell him a frantic, passionate story in some time. He’s worried. He should be worried, right? Because peaceful triplets morphing into screeching triplets is a bad sign. He gets up from the chair, mentally preparing himself for three simultaneous breakdowns. 

He makes his way down the hallway toward their playroom, expecting to find them bopping each other over the head or jabbing at whomever with a stick or something. Instead, he finds three kids standing with their head titled back and wailing for no apparent reason. He scratches the back of his neck, knocking on the door for effect as he enters the room. “Uh, guys?”

But his babies just glow, and their eyes beam brightly, and they all run to tackle him at once. He’s knocked to the floor playfully, and he kisses Stephen’s head as he wrangles him in to blow raspberries on his tummy. “We got you, Daddy! Now we get cake!”

He eyes his oldest son skeptically. “You get cake for attacking your poor father?”

There are three sets of nodding, and Stephen smiles cheekily. “Mommy said we had to keep you ‘stracted!”

Which, apparently, works pretty well because Sonia and Wesley have darted off, leaving him and Stephen alone in the playroom. It doesn’t last long, though, because he runs away too, leaving Ben’s eyebrows scrunched as he frowns. It’s Sunday evening, and that typically means no sweets for anyone since their normal Saturday night consists of waffles for dinner, a movie, and plenty of popcorn and snacks to satisfy three year olds for a week.

Ben goes downstairs, where he’s greeted by the sight of his precious, not so sneaky wife and their three children eating the chocolate cake he baked a few days ago. Wesley has smudges of frosting on his chin, and he can’t help but grin, even though his kids tried to trick him in, apparently, the only way they knew how that had Leslie Knope written all over it.

“So,” he starts, standing behind her to wrap her up in his arms, kissing her hair. “The kids, they ambushed me. Would you have anything to do with that?”

Leslie instantly shakes her head. “Nope. No. Absolutely not. They’re three and giant weirdos, and they’re half you, so...”

“Okay, I’m gonna take that as a yes,” Ben tells her, chuckling as his wife shovels more cake into her mouth. “Can I have a bite of that?”


	52. “Does he know about the baby?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another dialogue prompt from waffles-junior (set before Leslie and Ben find out they're having triplets).

She’s lying completely across him, her leg swung around his as she nuzzles her cheek into his chest. He’s still mostly asleep, dozing in and out, jolting every few seconds. It’s a rainy spring morning, and Ben’s older brother Henry and his family are coming to spend a few days with them. She’s been eagerly looking forward to this for weeks now; she doesn’t know Henry very well, and she’s anticipating finding out just how similar the Wyatt brothers are.

Because she bets they’re both total nerds. After all, she figures Ben probably picked up some of his quirks and habits from Henry.

“Does he know about the baby?” she asks quietly. “I mean, have you told him?”

Ben grunts and tugs her a bit closer. “Told him. ‘s happy for us. Go back t’sleep, baby,” he whispers, voice low and slurred.

And, yeah, neither of them got much rest after their epically amazing boning extravaganza, and the fact that Ben’s naked literally right now with zero clothes on to cover up his sexy elf-ness riles her up even more. But, still, he told his brother that she, Leslie Barbara Knope, is pregnant with his baby. A tiny person is living inside of her uterus, and Ben is going to be a father, and she is going to be a mother. It’s so scary and strange and new and exciting.

She’s pretty sure she’ll explode of anticipation by the time nine months are up.

“We have to go pick everyone at the airport up in a couple hours. Why don’t we shower?”

He kisses her hair. “’m good here with you an’ the baby,” he tells her. “Few more minutes.”

She nods and presses her lips against his bare chest.


	53. Through a song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an "I love you" prompt from waffles-junior.

Ben’s most definitely still asleep when Leslie lets the triplets bombard him. She lifts their tiny, adorable, mischievous, lovable two and a half year olds on to the mattress, and they jump around excitedly on their unsuspecting father, screaming and shrieking out a song they made up just for the special occasion. Ben quickly rolls over, smiling hugely, proudly as he gently grabs ahold of Sonia to blow raspberries on her tummy. Their daughter cackles, mimicking Leslie’s laugh almost exactly.

“WE LOVE YOU, DADDY!” they sing, all at different intervals. Wesley’s is more on the quieter side as he clings to Ben’s shirtsleeve, and she can’t help but glow because, while each one of their kids has his personality traits and his looks, Wesley is definitely the most similar to her baby daddy. Sonia’s is ferocious and spunky as she wiggles in his grasp; she’s almost an even mixture of both of them with Ben’s planned preparedness at only thirty months old, but she also has Leslie’s passion and desire to do her best. Stephen’s song, of course, is the loudest, most bubbly version because he likes to shine bigger and brighter, do more and more with each and every day. 

They’re all so stinking cute and perfect. 

She never understood why parents and grandparents always wanted to smoosh their kids’ cheeks, but now she totally gets it.

“Daddy, we mades you a cake!” Stephen boosts joyfully, still jumping crazily on the bed.

Ben grins. “Really? What kind?”

“CHOCOLATE!” Sonia shouts. “It’s your favorite!”

Leslie sits down on the side of the bed, reaching for Ben’s warm hand to clasp in her own. He’s sitting up, letting their children get free roaming range, and he doesn’t complain once when Stephen bounces all over the bruises on his shins that she knows are still there (hey, sometimes sex is complicated). 

“Happy Father’s Day,” she whispers amidst the chaos that is their three beautiful children just being themselves.

“Thank you,” he whispers back, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.


	54. From very far away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an "I love you" prompt from fourthinobesity.

“I miss you,” Ben says quietly.

And he’s all bundled up, lying on his side with only his exhausted face showing on the screen, and she wants nothing more than to reach out and touch his stubbly cheeks, to sooth him to sleep as he’s done for her so many times before. But he’s so very far away, and nothing is easy about this. His father’s in the hospital after a near fatal heart attack, and Leslie’s in Washington D.C. on a work retreat, and he’s in Minnesota by himself.

Judging from their text conversations earlier, it’s not going well.

Because Steve Wyatt’s a headstrong bastard who scares Ben half to death in more ways than one, but there’s no denying that the two of them love each other. Their relationship is rocky, sure, but Ben bolted into action the second he got a frantic phone call from Ulani. He’d jumped out of bed right in the middle of the night, changing quickly and booking the next flight out of Pawnee to Minneapolis, informing her of what happened around 2:30 AM. 

And, now, there are smudges beneath his sad, exhausted eyes, and she wishes she were there. Normally, she’d be ecstatic to stay in a hotel close by Capitol Hill, but she’s... just not. There are so many things she should be doing right now, but working absolutely isn’t one of them. She shouldn’t be sitting on a surprisingly comfy bed with a sea of binders spread out all over the place, highlighters and markers strewn across the messy blankets.

She should be there, holding him and carding her fingers through his hair while he attempted to rest. Because he’s been going nonstop for practically two days straight, and he doesn’t handle stress well, and she wonders if he’s taking anything to help subdue his anxious, frazzled nerves. But what she sees tonight is tired, squinting eyes, and she just wants to be there.

“I miss you too,” she says. “Are you okay? How’s your dad?”

She watches Ben shrug, and she has no idea how he’s holding his iPad up from beneath his obvious cocoon. “He’s alright. The doctor said he’d make a full recovery.”

“And you?” she questions because, even though she asked, her stubborn elf of a husband always ignores himself and his own needs.

Once again, he shrugs. “I’m okay. I just... miss you. I wish you were here.”

“Me too,” she says sadly. “You should get some sleep. You look wiped out.”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine. Tell me about your day.”

She doesn’t know how she found such a wonderful husband like Ben, but he grins when she starts to ramble about her afternoon in The White House. 

Eventually, she stops telling him the story about Andy having to pee in a Gatorade bottle and finds that his eyes are closed, lips parted slightly.

“I love you,” she whispers. “So much.”


	55. On a Tuesday sunny afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an "I love you" prompt from pawneewafflesben.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. 

It’s a really nice November afternoon, unlike the ones they've had recently. The sun’s shining brightly, reflecting beautifully off Leslie’s gorgeous blond locks. But he can’t deny that he’d rather be buried inside the warmth of her thighs, holding her and cuddling her after as she fights to stay awake. Sitting outside on a bench in Ramsett Park is good too, though. Romantic, even. It’s been a painfully long day at work for both of them, and the fresh air somehow soothes his headache. 

She shakes her head. “Do you want your coat back?”

Because, yeah, he totally wrapped her up in it the second they got here when started to shiver. 

“N-No.” And, dammit, he doesn’t mean to stutter, but it’s windy and frigid, and all he’s wearing is a paper thin suit, and why the hell is it so cold? “You keep it.”

Leslie eyes him, probably taking in the obvious trembling, before throwing her arm around his shoulders. He shrinks down so she can do it effectively because she’s so tiny and small, and it works out relatively well. Sure, he’s roughly seventy-eight percent convinced his balls will freeze off at some point, but oh well. All that matters, all that’s important, is that his wife’s here with him, and they’re enjoying this peace together.

“Do you want to go home?” she asks after a few minutes (or years or centuries). 

The shivering is painful at this point, but he just looks at Leslie, soaking in this Tuesday afternoon with the most striking human being of all time.

“No,” he says. “I’m g-great here.” 

She rubs her hand up and down his left arm to give off some heat, some friction, and she places a tiny kiss on his cheek. “I love you,” she whispers. 

Ben maneuvers from his position, despite the cold digging its claws into his body, and tugs her close, pulling their lips together. “I love you too,” he breathes against her skin.


	56. When I am dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another "I love you" prompt from the great pawneewafflesben.

“Stop squirming,” Sonia orders.

“Seriously, dude,” Stephen says. “Just chill out.”

Wesley rolls his eyes, but, oh yeah, no one can freaking see it because he’s dying, and everything’s black, and why does he have to do this? “You guys wouldn’t be so subtle about this if you were the one doing it!” he exclaims, muffled by the body bag, yes body bag, that his brother and sister had shoved them in. Because tomorrow’s Halloween, and he’s never been fond of it in the first place, and now he’s involved with two psychotic lunatics.

“Okay, he’s home!” Stephen shouts, patting the bag. Wesley hears them bolt out of the way and tries to calm his erratic breathing. He’s only thirteen. That’s too young to die. Far too young. He hasn’t even read The Lord of The Rings trilogy for the tenth time yet; that’s definitely going to happen before he goes. And he never watched the new Claymation video Dad sent him the link to yesterday afternoon while he was in Chicago visiting Uncle Henry.

His heart rate is roughly triple what it should be, and Wesley bites his lower lip, hoping for a quick end to this madness. 

And, yeah, then there’s this loud scream. Not a shriek like they’d get from Mom, but a loud, booming scream.

Wesley quickly starts kicking and twisting around in the bag, and panic courses through his veins, and he’s unzipped and free. He sits up, takes a deep, full breath, and stares his father right in the face. His cheeks are flushed, and his hair’s kind of weird looking, and he seems tired or something. And of course Stephen and Sonia aren’t going to come back for him. Why’s he so gullible? And why did he ever agree to this in the first place?

Good lord, what’s wrong with him?

“Hi, Dad,” he says shakily, wiping the sweat from his hairline.

His dad’s never been one for a short temper, but he doesn’t like to be scared. He hates horror films and dislikes Halloween almost as much as Wesley does. And he’s seen the Xanax prescription in the medicine cabinet, so there’s that too. But his dad extends his hand and helps him out of the bag wordlessly, and Wesley immediately envelops him in a hug.

“You’re shaking, Wes,” Dad points out.

He nods. “I-I know. I’m sorry. Stephen and Sonia... They... They’re monsters.”

“Yet you’re the one in the body bag,” he acknowledges. “I thought you were dead.”

Wesley shakes his head. “No! I-I didn’t mean to –”

“Relax, buddy,” Dad says. “Wanna go watch that Claymation video?”

“Can we kill Stephen and Sonia first?”

His father raises one eyebrow. “Possibly, but not yet. We gotta make a plan and execute when they’re least expecting it.”

“I love you,” Wesley hears himself saying.

Dad hugs him briefly again. “Love you too, pal.”


	57. In awe, the first time you realized it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an "I love you" prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

He’s half asleep when he realizes it. 

And, to make matters worse, he’s not even snuggled up next to her. She’s not here to kiss and hold. He wants to breathe in her scent, to relish the beautiful woman that is Leslie Knope. But he’s lying in April and Andy’s spare bedroom, his room now, and everything feels wrong.

So, naturally, he gets up, pulling on a pair of jeans over his boxers, tugging on socks, shoes, and a jacket, and he’s out the door. Sitting in his Saturn and driving to her house makes his heart hammer in his chest, and is this stupid? It’s probably stupid. Right? Maybe. He doesn’t know for sure, but what he does know is that he’ll go crazy without her. He’ll turn into a puddle of nothingness if he doesn’t scoop her up in his arms and tell her what he’s been holding back.

Ben knocks on her door and shoves his hands in his pockets and wills his brain to calm down.

Leslie opens up, and he instantly finds himself wrapping her up in his arms. “I love you,” he whispers. “I love you. I love you.” And he repeats it several more times for good measure because he’s anxious and afraid and open and raw and vulnerable, and he came here in the middle of the night. He’s an idiot. But he buries his face in her neck anyway, tugging her as close as possible and kissing her chilly skin. “I love you,” he breathes out once more.

He blinks the tears away, and Leslie rubs his back. “I love you too, Ben,” she says quietly.

“Really?” he asks, which is stupid, he’ll admit.

Leslie smiles. “Of course. Do you wanna come in?”

He nods, grinning. “I’d like that.” 

She invites him inside, and he immediately picks her up in his arms, carrying her upstairs to her, hopefully eventually their, bedroom.


	58. In a way I can’t return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another "I love you" prompt from the lovely BenjisCoolTimes.

“Oh my God!” Leslie shrieks. “What happened?”

Please tell her that isn’t her secret boyfriend standing there with his arm in a sling.

As she gets closer, she notes that there are smudges beneath his droopy eyes that accent his flushed cheeks, and he looks as though he’s barely holding himself together. She wants to hug him, but that could not only jar his apparent injury but also get both of them fired. Because Chris is a ding dong of a boss, and Ben should be the boss anyway since he’s clearly cooler and smarter and better with numbers and would be a sexy as hell with all that authority. Yeah. Maybe she should make a petition or something.

But she doesn’t worry about that quite yet because, hello, he’s hurt.

He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Andy kinda broke my collarbone.”

“What? How? When?”

“He jumped on top of me earlier, and it just sorta snapped.”

But Leslie’s not exactly following. “Why would he be jumping on you?”

“I don’t know!” Ben says, like he’s thinking the same thing she is, and it’s honestly ridiculously adorable. He winces before he continues. “I was asleep, and then he started jumping up and down asking me to make chocolate chip pancakes. I guess he mis-jumped, landed on me, and... yeah. Now I’m stuck with this for at least six weeks,” he tells her, motioning to the sling.

Leslie frowns and rubs his other arm. “What’re you going to do?” she asks because, seriously, that’s a for real question.

“I was kinda thinking you’d be my right hand man, so to speak.”

And she can’t ignore that stupid, crooked grin.

“Buuuttt, Ben!” she whines quietly. “We’re not dating here, remember?”

“Oh, trust me, I remember, but I already talked to Chris about it, and he agreed because, apparently, you have the best handwriting of anyone ever, so you’re all set.”

She squeals and almost jumps into his arms. But he’s had enough jumping for the day, seriously. “That sounds amazing!”

“Well, go get your things, and meet me in my office, m’lady.” Leslie beams and turns around before Ben stops her again. “Thank you for this. You’re amazing.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “You can return the favor when your arm heals.”


	59. When we lay together on the fresh spring grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an "I love you" prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

“I’ll be getting grass stains out of their clothes for weeks,” Ben comments, but, really, he isn’t being serious. She can tell. Their sixteen month old triple cherries are enjoying this lovely April afternoon, toddling around in overalls and play sneakers. Stephen’s even wearing one of Ben’s old baseball caps he’s been fascinated with for weeks now, and Leslie can’t help but smile each and every time she glances at him. Of course, she smiles every time she looks at any of their babies, but Stephen in that red hat makes her snap at least a thousand pictures on her Gryzzl tablet. 

It’s been a peaceful, relaxing day, filled to the brim with snuggles and kisses, and all five of them even took a two hour nap in the middle of their big bed. Yes, Leslie napped too; she’s just as surprised as Ben was when he woke up, groggy and cuddly as ever. “They’re so cute,” she whispers. They’re lying on an old blanket in the freshly trimmed yard, Ben spooning around her as they watch their monster babies touch everything in sight.

So maybe Sonia eats a worm on accident. That’s not a big deal, right?

Yeah, she’ll probably have to Google that one later, but she’s sure her daughter isn’t the only one year old on the planet to ever eat a worm.

Wait. Maybe she is though...

“They really are,” Ben says in her ear, making her shiver. He holds her closer. “We make adorable kids.”

She shrugs. “I think I make the adorable kids. They don’t really look like you,” she teases.

Even though she’s never heard a bigger lie escape from her mouth. Come on; just look at Wesley! He’s like Ben’s reincarnate.

“Oh, okay,” he says with a chuckle, nipping at her neck, and she cackles. “Do you think we should stop Stephen from petting that squirrel?”

Leslie shakes her head. “Nah. Pawnee squirrels are amongst the most friendly in the squirrel nation.”

“Whatever you say, honey.” He settles down, and she continues to observe their spontaneous, adventurous tykes. 

That is, until the kids pile on top of them, giggling and laughing excitedly.

And, in the middle of their raspberry blowing adventure, Ben’s lips meet her own, and he murmurs, “I love you.”


	60. Broken, as you clutch the sleeve of my jacket and beg me not to leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another one word prompt from the wonderful SakuraBlossomStorm.

“No,” Leslie cries. “You can’t go.”

He swears he hears his heart snap straight in half, and he gently wipes the tears from her flushed cheeks. Leslie’s five months pregnant with triplets, and her hormones have been a little haywire and all over the place recently. And that’s okay. It’s perfectly okay, and he keeps trying to tell her that it’s normal, that he doesn’t think any less of her (because how could he?), that it doesn’t make her a terrible mother for being emotional. “I have to, baby. It’s only for three days.”

And he’s trying to cut it down to two if possible. His dad wants help moving belongings out of an old store locker, and both Henry and Steph refuse to even make an attempt. He wants to take Leslie or, rather, just not go at all, but he agreed because his wife said to do it, but that was a different day, a different story. But she’s very pregnant already since she’s dealing with three times the normal amount of baby, and he doesn’t want to put her through airports and his father and the rest of his family.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she tells him brokenly.

And, okay, yeah, he can’t do this. 

He can’t leave her like this.

Why did he ever think this was a good idea?

He’s pulling his cell phone out of his jeans pocket when Leslie grabs his hand. 

“Ben,” she says, hugging him, and he leans down so she can hide her face in his neck. “Go. I’m sorry. I’m tired and crazy, and I need to pee again.”

He instantly shakes his head. “I’m cancelling my flight, honey. I’m going to stay home with you the next few days.” He’s already off work, and he can’t... He doesn’t want Leslie to be sad and while having to deal with everything by herself. Because Ann, who’s a great asset in situations like these, no longer lives in Pawnee, and his dad’s just going to have to understand that. Maybe he can somehow convince Henry to help; he knows his brother has two kids himself, but Ben’s the last one who visited, which means he’s the least likely to get yelled at for never coming home.

“Really?” Her eyes grow wide, and it’s super adorable.

He kisses her softly. “Of course. Wanna watch a movie?”

“Do you swear you’re not tricking me right now? Because I’m so happy I just peed myself a little.”

He chuckles and pecks her lips again. “I swear. I love you.”

She brushes her baby bump against his stomach, and he places her palm there. One of the babies, most likely Sonia as he’s recently discovered, kicks, and he grins. “I love you too, Benjamin. Now that you’re staying, is there any chance I could acquire a mac ‘n’ cheese pizza?”

“Certainly, m’lady.”


	61. "It was just a dream; you're alright."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a "not doing so good" prompt from the great BenjisCoolTimes.

"Halloweentown or Finding Nemo?" Leslie questions, plopping down on the couch beside her elfish boyfriend. It's a snowy November night, perfect for movies, popcorn, and snuggling. She can't believe he's here right now on her couch, that they're together in the first place, but she's so much more than thrilled. Because he's handsome and gentle and caring and always makes her feel special.

And he's spending the night, so that makes this even better.

"Definitely Finding Nemo," Ben says. "I haven't seen it in years."

Leslie gasps. "Do you actually like the movie?" Because no other guy she's dated since it came out has ever even seen it.

Ben nods. "Yeah. It's cute and has a good storyline, and I like the fish."

"You're a dork," she says, kissing his cheek before standing up to put the movie in. Huh. He seems kind of... hot. Not like "hot hot," but like temperature wise. "You feeling okay? You seem kinda warm."

He smiles. "I'm fine, babe. You gonna put the movie in today or tomorrow?"

She playfully slaps his arm, moving toward her DVD player.

~

Ben doesn't stay awake for more than thirty minutes of Finding Nemo. Instead, he puts his head on Leslie's pillowed lap and curls his knees to his chest, despite the heated blanket wrapped around him. He's quivering, actually quivering, and groaning in his sleep. She gently shakes his overheated back, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

"Hey," she whispers. "Do you wanna go lay down?"

Ben shakes his head, and she can't tell if his eyes are even open. "I'm 'kay."

"You're not okay, Ben. You're running a fever."

He shrugs. "'s fine."

Wow, he's very stubborn. It's not exactly a secret, but, then again, she's only seen him sick once or twice, and she wasn't romantically involved with him at the time. But this is a completely different story, and he can't just expect her not to take care of him. Because he seems absolutely miserable, and he's definitely under the weather and is in urgent need of snuggles.

And guess what? Leslie Knope's great at snuggling.

The best, actually.

So she somehow finds a way to haul him to his feet. They hold hands as she leads him upstairs, and she gets out the sleeping wear he packed as he collapses face first on the mattress. She kneads his khaki covered calf (holy triplet cows; they're so amazingly muscular) before tapping his socked foot. "Ben, pajamas, medicine, and then bed."

"No," he grumbles, scratching his stubbly cheek. "I mean... I'm alright. Jus' tired. Wanna go back and watch the movie?"

She chuckles. "I think the only thing you should be watching is the back of your eyelids."

"Ew, lame joke..."

He must not be feeling that bad. Maybe just a fever and the chills because he doesn't seem to have any other symptoms. This is a whole new ball game for her, one where she deciphers how her boyfriend handles himself when sick. So far, he's acting relatively normal, minus the sleeping during a cinematic masterpiece and shivering to death.

"You sure you don't wanna change?" she questions.

He nods. "Don't feel like moving..."

"Fine," she sighs. "But you're at least taking some medicine."

"'lright," he slurs.

~

She doesn't hear a peep out of Ben until he starts thrashing around in bed. And then there's a series of quiet whimpers, and he clings to the blankets like they're his only lifeline. Because he's been out like a light for hours; Leslie came in here around 2:30 to at least curl up next to him after being without him on their night together for so long. She knows he's a light sleeper, so she didn't want to disturb him.

"Hey, whoa," she says, beginning to roughly shake his shoulder as his whimpers grow louder and more intense. He eventually snorts awake, coughing wetly and still clutching on to her quilt. It's dark in the room, but she swears she spies tears in his bloodshot, droopy brown eyes. "It was just a dream; you're alright," she reassures.

But Ben rolls over and effectively smushes his face into her chest, and she wraps her arms around his quivering form. Her heart hammers in her chest as she tries to get a grip on herself. He's okay. There's no reason to freak out. Except he doesn't feel well, and he's trembling violently while simultaneously drenched with sweat, and he's holding on to her hard.

She cards her fingers through his damp hair, peppering kisses on his scalp because she thinks he needs the extra comfort. "'m sorry..." he whispers hoarsely against her (his) t-shirt. "Didn't mean t'ruin our night. Don't get these often 'nough."

Leslie rubs his back. "Shh... It's alright. Don't sorry about that right now," she says quietly. "Can I get you anything? Water or another blanket or some more medicine?"

He most likely needs all three of those, but he shakes his head. "Wanna lay 'ere with you."

She doesn't argue. "Okay, Ben. Get some rest."

~

Luckily, he doesn't have another nightmare. But, unluckily for Leslie, she discovers tiny Benji Wyatt snores. Loudly. So so so loudly. Enough to shake the cabinets in her house. Enough to rattle the bed as he sleeps. Well, not really, but still. She wasn't expecting it, but maybe it's just because he's sick. Hopefully.

By nine AM, his fever's almost gone. They're still lying in her bed, and he's rolled into a ball while half-watching TV out of the corner of his eye. Leslie's sitting up with her laptop open and resting against her legs. She stops to brush his bangs back every now and then.

"Can you change the channel?" he questions, and, wow, now he sounds stuffy.

"What's wrong, Wyatt? You don't like Spongebob?"

He shrugs, and he's so adorable snuggled into her pillows. He fits perfectly there against them, and she tries to ignore the urge to jump his skinny bones. "Not as much as I like Star Trek or something like that," he tells her. But then he reconsiders. "Except I do like that 'Pretty Patties' episode. That's a good one."

"Do you watch a lot of this show?" she asks with a chuckle.

"Ironically enough, only when I'm sick. But I'm not feeling it right now."

She closes her laptop. "Well, what do you feel like doing?"

Leslie gets her answer when Ben tugs her close, and their lips crash against each other.


	62. "I know it hurts; I'm sorry."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a "not doing so good prompt" from SakuraBlossomStorm.

"Come here, buddy," Ben whispers, holding on to his youngest, smallest five year old as he cries quietly. Poor Wesley just hasn't felt well at all today, and Ben's really beginning to worry. Really really worry. Because he's not very feverish, but he's been throwing up every now and then, clutching at his stomach through the heaves.

He's just finished his latest expulsion, and he's already in pajamas with another dose of medicine running through his system, even though it's barely four in the afternoon. Leslie left for D.C. this morning and wound up taking their healthy children in order to most likely help Wesley get better faster and to avoid any possible contagions.

Ben's heart beats wickedly, thumping into his chest cavity as he sits down in the living room recliner, rocking his sick boy back and forth. The TV's off, and the whole house is silent except for Wesley's occasional whimper, and it's so foreign. He hasn't heard his house ever be this quiet since they had their babies five whole years ago. He drapes a quilt over both him and Wesley, settling down and kissing the top of his head.

"Don't feel good," Wesley says sadly, clutching on to Ben's long sleeved shirt.

And that alone is enough to break his heart in half. "I know, pal. I'm sorry. Do you wanna take a nap and see if you feel better after?"

The kindergartner nods.

Ben wraps gently rubs patterns on his back. "You just rest, and I'll be right here, okay?"

There's another nod, and he just wishes he could magically make his son healthy again.

~

Wesley wakes up around seven and promptly vomits all over Ben's chest.

"I'm sorry," he cries. "I didn't mean to."

"No no no," Ben reassures. "It's okay. You're okay." And he repeats that mantra several times as he grabs quickly changes Wesley's shirt, throwing a hoodie over his own bare torso. "I know it hurts; I'm sorry," he says after a minute. He sets his son on his and Leslie's bed and wants nothing more than to transfer this little boy's pain to him. Because this is gut wrenching, and... Wait a minute. "Wes, can you point to where it hurts the most?"

And then there's a tiny, shaky finger pointing to his lower right side. And Ben traces over his own scar through the fabric of his clothing. Shit. Shit shit shit. Instantly, he picks Wesley up without jostling him too much. Fuck. They have to get to the hospital and fast. He doesn't know why he didn't see the symptoms before in this light, but Ben's had appendicitis himself, and this is exactly what it looks like.

Good lord, he can only imagine the pain his baby boy must be in because appendicitis wasn't exactly a walk in the park for him, and he's a grown man.

"Where we goin', Dad?" Wesley questions, panic tracing his every word as Ben buckles him in the SUV. His brown eyes wide and green glasses smudged with tears.

Ben kisses his warm forehead. "To the hospital, Wes." There's an immediate look of fright. "But don't worry. You're gonna be alright. I promise."

~

“He’s gonna be okay, Les,” Ben says. And, yeah, maybe the only reason he’s so calm is because already taken two Xanax, but still. Leslie’s hundreds of miles away with their other two children, and she’s panicking over the phone. “He just got out of surgery, and the doctor said he looks great.” And, yeah, maybe he’s trying to really reassure himself too, that he didn’t ignore the signs of appendicitis and almost kill his own son.

Except the doctor did mention his wasn’t that close to rupturing, so there’s that. 

“We’re coming home,” she says frantically. “I’m booking a flight right now.”

His eyes widen. “Leslie, breathe, sweetie. Wes is okay. He’s fine.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that we’re leaving. Ben, my youngest pumpkin is in the hospital!”

“I know. Believe me; I know,” he tells her. “It’s really late. Get some sleep with Sonny and Stevie and then fly home in the morning.”

His wife sighs. “I wish I was there.”

“I wish you guys were here too. But I’ll take care of our little trooper, okay?”

“I know you will. Please please please tell him I love him.”

He smiles into his cell phone. “I will. Night, Leslie. We love you.”

“Night, Benjamin. We love you too.”

~

Ben’s lying in Wesley’s hospital bed, allowing the small boy to snuggle his face into his side. He refused to get some rest without his daddy, and that’s all it took for Ben to toe off his tennis shoes. Scooby Doo plays in the background, and he cards his fingers through his son’s hair as he snores softly, gently against him. It’s been a long day for everyone, but, really, he’s just happy that Wesley is okay.


	63. "Breathe."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another "not doing so good" prompt from the wonderful SakuraBlossomStorm.

He’s been on edge all day.

After all, he’s the new City Manager, and that comes with taxing responsibilities, such as making sure the raccoons don’t get too out of control on Friday the Thirteenth (which is coming up; last year, they ate an entire twenty acres worth of corn) and keeping up with Leo von Stratton, a very ruthless Christmas tree salesman. She tries to ignore the fact that it’s nowhere near the holidays and tells him to do the same. He’s basically in charge of Pawnee now, and, while Leslie thinks that’s incredibly sexy, she knows handling stress is sometimes... stressful for him.

So, honestly, it isn’t a surprise to her when she comes home around 8:30 to find him curled in a ball on his side of their big mattress in his work clothes minus the shoes, a bottle of Tylenol and some water on his bedside table. She’s fairly positive he’s awake because he isn’t snoring, but he’s still and quiet. She carefully nestles herself against him, rubbing his hipbone.

“You okay?” she asks quietly.

He shakes his head, and she feels him scrub his hands down the side of his face. “Head hurts.”

“Can I help?” 

He shrugs. “Just cold and achy. Been trying to sleep, but nothing works.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re dressed for work and not under the covers,” she points out softly, hoping for some kind of reaction from him. She wants to card her fingers through his hair, but she doesn’t particularly want to disturb his headache. She just keeps kneading his hip and eventually moves to his lower back. But she hits a spot that sends him flailing, causing him to sit up and dangle his legs over the side of the bed. He places his head in his hands. She can feel him trembling. “Whoa, what’s going on?”

She gets herself upright too and immediately places a hand on his shoulder.

“Ben, hey.” 

But he doesn’t look up. His breathing’s erratic and shallow, and what the hell is happening right now? Of course, she obviously knows the actual answer, but her mind is spinning way too fast to comprehend it completely at the moment. She tries her best to sooth out the kinks and whispers in his ear that everything’s okay, and eventually, finally, it’s enough to barely shake him. 

“Breathe, honey. Just breathe,” she coaxes. 

She’s rubbing his back once more, but she stops when he flinches and gags.

Okay. Whoa. Gagging.

She hops up and grabs the mini trashcan from the bathroom, shoving it in his grasp with literally no time to spare. He heaves, and not much comes out. She brushes his damp bangs from his forehead and reaches to loosen his tie and unbutton the first few notches of his shirt, hoping to get that stifled, panic-ridden and laced feeling to leave him once and for all. She grabs a freezing, wet washcloth and places it on his neck, frowning at the warmth rolling off of him in waves. 

“Breathe, Ben,” she repeats. She sits on the edge of the mattress with him, and he’s breathing deeper now to where she can see his shoulders move with each inhale and exhale. “Hey, you’re alright.” 

He buries his face into her neck, and she feels tears stinging in her own eyes as his fall on her skin. “Sorry,” he mumbles, hiccupping. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh... Please don’t apologize. Everything’s okay.”

“Are you –” 

But she stops him the second she hears his breathing hitch in his throat uncomfortably. “We’re okay.” 

Ben nods, and she kisses his temple.


	64. Apple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a one word prompt from SakuraBlossonStorm.

As cute as he is resting comfortably on his stomach, Leslie’s positive her own stomach can’t take much more of this. Agony twists and ripples throughout her gut, and what the hell does a lady need to do to get some dinner around here? He laid down to take a nap hours, yes hours, ago, and he’s yet to stir. Because it may be the day after Thanksgiving, and he’s spent the last several nights running interference between his parents, and he’s exhausted, but come on.

Seriously.

Leslie guesses she could dig into their mountains of leftovers. After all, they do still have an abundance of mashed potatoes and turkey, but that’s not what she wants to do at all. She’s been craving delicate, fluffy waffles for at least a billion years now, but it’s snowing and freezing, and JJ’s is never open on Thanksgiving or Black Friday anyway. Waffles. She needs waffles. She scowls and frowns and collapses on to the bed, rubbing hastily at her husband’s warm back.

“Beeennnnn,” she whines.

He grumbles and curls up even more, burying himself further beneath the plaid quilt. “No… Sleep…”

“I promise I’ll let you take another nap after you make me waffles.”

He cracks open one eye. “There are literally pounds of leftovers in the kitchen,” he points out, his voice hoarse from his marathon rest.

“Yeah, I totally know that,” she says. “But I want waffles, and JJ’s is closed.”

He shakes his head, snuggling the blanket around his unshaven face. “Why don’t you eat an apple instead?”

An apple? 

What the fuck is she supposed to do with an apple?

She hits his shoulder, and he pouts, sticking his bottom lip out and everything. 

“Pleeeeease, Benjamin?” she begs. “I’m starving and dying all at once, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t just tell your wife to eat an apple.”

Ben groans, but the quilt falls to their bedroom floor, and he begins his journey downstairs to the kitchen. 


	65. Candle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also a one word prompt from SakuraBlossonStorm.

“’s three AM,” Ben mumbles, tugging their festive plaid comforter over his head. The whole room smells of cinnamon and apple pie and pumpkin spice and cranberries, and he’s pretty sure this shouldn’t be happening when he just fell asleep in the first place. Because, now, it’s officially Thanksgiving, and Leslie’s been working her tiny, perfect ass off since last week in preparation, and he’s tired. So so tired. Like his bones will shatter if he even gets out of bed tired.

How is his wife such a magical genie?

Leslie pulls the blankets down and kisses his cheek. “Come on, sleepyhead. We have a lot of work to do.” Ben just shakes his head, and that’s the moment when Leslie forces him to sit up, placing a piping hot mug of coffee in his hands. It’s warm and soothing on his throat and causes parts of his brains to awake, and wait. Why are there, like, a dozen candles burning in here?  
It smells… strangely good? He doesn’t understand it.

“’m tired,” he tells her quietly, placing the cup on the bedside table and cuddling his face into her beautiful breasts. She’s still standing in front of him, so she rubs his back and places slight kisses in his hair. “Can’t we lay back down for at least a couple more hours?” Because he’s been dealing with his parents for the last three days, and he’s spent, strung out, and will probably end up popping the rest of his Xanax prescription today just to remain functioning.

He feels her shake her head. “Sorry, Benji. No can do. But that’s why I lit all the candles! I wanted to draw you out of bed and down to the kitchen with me!”

“Thought it was for aesthetics?” 

“That too. I know you’re exhausted, but we’re almost there.”

She cards her fingers through his hair, and it makes him melt a little.

“Then my mom and dad can go back to their own separate homes?”

There’s another kiss on his head. “We’ll kick them on their asses as soon as they’ve finished digesting, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers with a slight, crooked grin.


	66. Balloon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another one prompt from the lovely SakuraBlossonStorm.

"That’s a lot of balloons.”

Ben barely has the energy to glance up from where he’s been staring at the floor for the last several hours. His wife is so immensely gorgeous, and he wants nothing more than to live beneath her skin and soak up some of her wonderfully positive spirits. Because she just gave birth to premature triplets yesterday morning, and they’re in the NICU, and Wesley’s jaundiced, and Ben’s pretty sure he’s about to lose his sanity altogether.

“Do you need anything?” he asks hoarsely. “Water or some food?”

Leslie frowns. “Are they okay?”

At that moment, Ben drops the eye contact. They’re all so small, so tiny. There are so many tubes and wires and machines, and he only managed to hold just Stephen around two AM. “They’re stable,” he whispers. Nothing will ever be the same, and everything’s different, and his heart immediately swells in his chest, and his lungs compress, and he’s permanently shaking on this snowy, gloomy early December day.

They had their triplets yesterday. That’s three whole babies for them to love and hold and cherish.

Ben and Leslie should be celebrating. They should be holding all three of them, cuddling together as a family in Leslie’s hospital bed as she recovers from the C-section that was bound to happen whether they were early or not. But, instead, there are at least twenty balloons suffocating him in this tiny room, announcing the premature arrival, and he’s never felt anything quite like this in his entire existence.

“Come here,” she says quietly, and he watches her pat the mattress.

He shakes his head. “You need your rest.”

“Ben, you’re wrecked and nearly falling apart; I can tell.”

He shrugs, burying his face in his hands. Tears slip in between his fingers and fall to the tile below. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. I can’t get up and force you like I normally do. Just… come here.”

Really, he doesn’t want to rile her emotions any further, so he stands on disastrously quivering legs. The second his ass makes contact with the surprisingly comfortable bed, he melts into Leslie while still being overly cautious of her IVs. “’m sorry,” he says gruffly against her shoulder as he toes off his shoes and tucks his legs beneath the thin covers. “I’m trying to hold it together, but, Leslie, you should see them. They’re all so small.”

“They’ll be okay,” she reassures, rubbing his sweater-clad arm. “They’re the extraordinary Knope-Wyatt triple cherries after all.”

He nods, even though he’s not sure he believes it. Because he can’t let Leslie get upset. Has to be strong. But he’s miserably failing at that. “I love you,” he whispers. “So much. I love all of you.” He gently places his hand on the belly that used to carry their three infants, but they’re here out in the real world, and he’s absolutely beyond terrified. 

“Get some sleep, love,” Leslie says. “You need it.”

“What ‘bout you?” he mumbles, well on his way there already.

She tangles their fingers together. “I’m okay. I’m right here. We’re all okay.”

Ben drifts off, dreaming of his beautiful wife and gorgeous triple cherries.  
  



	67. Pearl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a one word prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

"Are you sure you didn't want to do anything special for your birthday?" Leslie questions, rubbing the back of Ben's hand with her thumb gently. Because it's totally his birthday, and they're sitting on the couch with their almost two year old babies sprawled across them after a long day of work and daycare, Finding Dory playing quietly on the flat screen. "I feel bad..."

She didn't even have enough time to plan him a super ultra mega bash; she's been that busy. The triplets keep them on their toes at literally all times, and they both have extremely stressful careers. Still, though, she feels like that's a pathetic excuse because he always plans out surprises for her and executes them perfectly. Just last week, he had her mother babysit and took her to a new restaurant in Pawnee where they shared shrimp cocktails and a chocolate soufflé and tons of kisses.

Also, they may or may not have boned. For several hours. Enough for both of them to wake up very sore the next morning.

But she has nothing, genuinely nothing, on his special day.

He kisses her cheek, entwining their fingers together. "Don't feel bad, love. Tonight is perfect."

She sighs. "You're lying."

"I assure you I'm not, m'lady."

"So all you want to do is eat leftover pasta and watch a kids movie?"

He nods. "I don't need a big, flashy birthday, Les. I like being here with you guys," he says, gesturing down to their babies with his chin. "You're all my precious little pearls."

She chuckles at that. "Pearls?" she questions.

He kisses her lips this time. "The most precious pearls in all the sea."


	68. Crushed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another one word prompt from the wonderful BenjisCoolTimes.

"Leslie, he's okay," Ann reassures.

But everything's blurry, and she's so nauseous. Her stomach churns, and she wrings her hands together in her lap. Because she's been sitting here in this stupid hospital waiting room for centuries waiting for an update that may never come.

And she's going crazy. Absolutely and literally crazy.

"He has a concussion and a few sprains, but he's okay."

That's not okay. That's far from okay. This is so totally the opposite of okay. She wants to scream that from the rooftops, as if it'll somehow make everything better. Because Ben's car is crushed, and so is her soul. Because her father died in a very similar sounding accident when Leslie was ten years old, and now her husband's hurt, and she needs to be with him.

Luckily for her, though, Ann's a magical, beautiful unicorn that escorts her to his gurney, shutting the blinds and letting them have some privacy.

She smushes Ben in a huge, yet gentle hug. Tears coat his hospital gown in seconds.

"'m 'kay, Les," he says. "'d hug you back, but I can't lift m'arms."

Leslie cries even more as she soaks in the image of him lying here with cuts and bruises all over the place. His left leg and hand are elevated slightly by fluffy pillows, and his eyes are very glazed over.

"I was so worried about you," she chokes out.

Ben instantly grabs her hand with his uninjured one. "I'm okay, baby. Please calm down."

She nods and lightly kisses his destroyed, sweaty hair. "I love you, Ben. I love you. I love you. I love you," she babbles.

"Breathe, Leslie. I'm okay. I got you. I'm right here. I love you," he rambles back.


	69. Under the Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a Christmas prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

“You know, Benny, this place really does look like a dump right now,” Steve Wyatt eloquently points out to his son. 

Ben rubs his forehead and then crams his shaky hands into his slacks pockets. “Gee, thanks,” he mumbles, glancing around their living room. It’s three days before Christmas, and his father, Ulani, and their daughter just had to come visit them. The house doesn’t even look that bad to Ben; his father should see it when the triplets are actually rowdy. But, no, their recently turned one year olds were clinging to him and Leslie like no one’s business due to the busy hustle and bustle that’s earned him more than one trip to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.

Wesley comes toddling over to him with messy hair, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. He instantly picks up his youngest, cradling him gently as Wesley throws his arms around Ben’s neck, cuddling his face into his skin. Poor babies. Stephen’s sprawled out on their couch, bundled beneath a soft reindeer blanket (one of seven, actually), while Sonia’s sleeping soundly beneath the coffee table. Ben honestly has no idea how tiny little Wesley is still conscious.

“You okay?” Leslie questions as he begins to walk into the kitchen with their son. She brushes his hair from his forehead and frowns slightly. “Your dad?”

He nods. “But it’s fine.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” she says sincerely. “But I do have some good news.”

After the day he’s had, Ben will take anything he can get his hands on. “Yeah?” he asks with a grin.

Leslie smiles, standing up on her tiptoes to give him a slow, passionate kiss on his lips, her hand planted firmly on his ass. “You’re standing under the mistletoe.”

He hums into her skin, and, even after all these years, she still makes him breathless.


	70. Keeping Warm by the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a Christmas prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

“Mmm...” Leslie purrs, entangling their fingers. “This’s nice...”

He nods, kissing the top of her head. They’ve spent all day on the couch, bundled in quilts despite the coziness emitting from their fire place and sipping hot chocolate as a blizzard brewed outside. At the moment, he’s the big spoon, wrapped around her and pecking her smooth skin softly every now and then. His heart rate is slow and calm, and he’s almost positive he’s never actually been this relaxed. Because it’s the second month in their brand new house, and they’re engaged, and everything’s perfect.

“I agree,” he whispers, cuddling closer.

Their lives are so hectic, so chaotic, that sometimes Ben honestly forgets what bliss feels like. Leslie’s a member of City Council, and he’s recently returned from D.C. to run Sweetum’s Charity Foundation, and there hasn’t been a split second of peace in ages. She had woken him up around five this morning to eagerly show him the snow falling, but he never imagined that he wouldn’t be able to even dig the car out of the driveway, which definitely meant no work for either of them. It’s Tuesday, and they didn’t participate in their careers, and Leslie hasn’t complained about it once. It’s as if she needs this break too, which is relatively surprising.

“But I am kinda hungry,” she says quietly.

Which he guesses makes sense. It’s almost six o’clock, and neither of them has so much as moved in almost four hours. 

But the thought of leaving his blanket cocoon is less than appetizing.

“What would you like, m’dear?” he finds himself asking anyway.

“Mac ‘n’ cheese pizza would be delightful!”

“You got it.”


	71. "It's too cold."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a Christmas prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

What’s always been weird to her is that Ben’s from Minnesota, and she swears he gets cold faster than her.

Maybe it’s because he has absolutely zero meat on his skinny, narrow bones, but, whatever the reason, she finds it adorable, especially early in the morning. It’s a snowy December dawn, and he needs to get up for work, but, true to Ben Wyatt fashion, he’s snoozing way past his alarm. She’s already cranked the heat for good measure because, during winter, it’s easiest to coax him out of bed with steaming hot coffee and an unnaturally warm house. 

“Ben, it’s past seven. You need to shake a leg.”

He hides his head beneath the covers. “No. It’s too cold.”

“Uh uh,” she says. “The heat’s on as high as it’ll go.”

Which is a lie, but oh well. He’s probably too exhausted to realize that quite yet.

Ben just cuddles harder into the fluffy pillows. She sighs and, dammit, he’s way too cute to ignore. Leslie climbs beneath the thick flannel comforter and spoons up behind him, pressing her front against his back and running her fingers through his hair. Who cares if they’re a little late? He’s the City Manager, after all. She rubs his hipbone with her other hand, and he snuggles deeper into her gentle embrace. How in the world did she ever get so lucky?


	72. Finding the Perfect Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another Christmas prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

“I missed you,” she says against his skin. “I missed you so much.”

There are dark smudges beneath his eyes, and he seems shaken completely out of the holiday spirit with deflated hair and flushed cheeks, but he’s still Ben, and he’s here. He gives her a lackluster crooked grin and tugs her even closer. “I missed you so much, Les,” he whispers. He’s so quiet and tender, despite the fact that they’re standing in an overly airport in the middle of December. She wraps him up, inhaling his familiar, comforting scent.

He’s spent the last five days at his father’s house for Christmas with him, Ulani, and their daughter. Apparently, Henry had flown in too, along with his wife and two kids. Eventually, though, Steve and Henry engaged in a fight from hell, and Ben, as per his usual, was thrown directly in the middle. He still has a fading purple bruise on his left cheek from where his older brother socked him one a bit too hard, sending him crashing into a glass table.

Leslie wishes she’d been there for him.

But, of course, work got in the way, and her husband went regardless because he had to, and she feels completely awful. Obviously, the past few days have been taxing on him, and he looks dead on his feet. He sways slightly with her in his arms, and she notes the trembling and quivering. Okay, he’s very strung out and would probably benefit from a nap. But she’d been anticipating his return for five whole days, and that’s a long time to be sitting on the best present in the galaxy.

“Let’s get you home.”

She entwines their fingers together, and Ben follows wordlessly.

Leslie drives, even though the weather is less than ideal. Her heart thumps, and she’s eager to unveil her ultimate surprise, but look at him. He could hardly stand, and he’s more than half asleep by the time she even puts the car in drive. She bites her bottom lip and rubs his puffy coat clad arm, chuckling slightly when his mouth drops open a little, and the patented snoring begins. It’s soft and quiet at first, but she knows it’ll develop into much more than this soon.

But she guesses this proves the validity for their upcoming Amsterdam vacation even more. Of course, it’s not until near Valentine’s Day, but she thinks she definitely found the perfect present for Ben. He needs some time off. Even though there’s still two months, she knows he’ll appreciate it, and he one hundred fifty thousand percent needs and deserves it.

“Love you,” he murmurs in his sleep, and Leslie feels her heart swell in affection for her sweet, dorky husband.

“I love you too, Benjamin.”


	73. "My car broke down in the snow."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is also a Christmas prompt from the awesome SakuraBlossomStorm.

It’s eleven when her doorbell rings, revealing a disheveled, frozen-looking Ben Wyatt with snow stuck in his hair. “What happened?” she asks frantically before she immediately tugs him inside. Her heart hammers in her chest, and his lips are blue, and he can’t stop shivering. She helps him out of his boots, and he coughs wetly into the warm air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“M-My ca-car b-broke down,” he stammers as Leslie frees him from his drenched coat. “P-Phone died.” He isn’t wearing a hat or gloves, and it’s as if he was entirely unprepared for this weather at all, which really isn’t a good thing because he hasn’t felt well the past few days. “S-Sorry I mi-missed our d-date.” He sneezes right after, groaning and rubbing at his forehead with red fingers.

She shakes her head, leading him to her bathroom. “Don’t worry about that, babe.” He peels off his clothes the second he hears the shower water turn on, and she turns it to a lukewarm temperature, not exactly wanting exacerbate his symptoms by changing the climate too quickly. She undresses herself, and they both get in. Leslie holds him close as he shivers and sputters against her, and she just wants to get his body back on page with everyone else. 

Eventually, she cranks the heat up and allows herself to let out of a sigh of relief when the trembling ceases little by little. She helps him into thick flannel pajama pants and his dark grey hoodie, giving him an onslaught of medicine and bundled him beneath the comforter. “’m sorry,” Ben whispers again. “Wanted to take you somewhere special. You deserve it.” He coughs, and she brushes his damp hair back from his forehead, frowning.

“It’s okay, Ben. It’s okay.”

She lies down beside him, and he instantly snuggles up against her. She can hear the congestion growing and knows his adventure trekking in the snow did no favors in her “Get Ben Better” campaign she started a few days ago when it became apparent he’s been running himself ragged for weeks, especially since they had only just recently gotten back together. He hides his face in her neck, and she rubs his now overheated back.

“Missed you,” he rasps. “Kept thinking ‘bout you the whole way here.”

At that, she smiles. “Get some rest, honey. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”


	74. "Bah humbug."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a Christmas prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

“Okay, what’s wrong with you?” Leslie questions harshly. “You’ve been all ‘bah humbug’ for days now. Aren’t you excited about Christmas?”

It’s easily the best and most wonderful time of the year. There’s eggnog and shopping and annual green and red waffles and cinnamon candles and ham and so many other delicacies she figures her husband would be jumping over the moon for. But, instead, he’s been mopey and grumpy and has barely said more than a few words to her all week. He didn’t even come to bed last night; she found him downstairs asleep on the couch while Fringe played in the background.

He’s officially retired for the day, freshly showered and wearing pajamas, curled up on his side while he watches the six o’clock news from the iPad. She slumps against the mattress and frowns, furrowing her eyebrows when he pulls away from her touch. What the hell? Okay, she doesn’t even think she did anything wrong, honestly, but there’s something off with this picture. Usually, Ben’s so sweet, caring, and considerate. It’s not like he’s not being those things, but he isn’t talking and is flinching and generally just pushing her away.

“Ben?” she tries again.

She hears him sigh, and he sits up. She figures he’s doing this to turn to face her, but nope; he leans down, tugs at the quilt at the end of their bed, and wraps it around his elfish body, securely cocooning himself away from his troubles, and this is so not going to fly. It’s December nineteenth, and there are only six days until her favorite holiday, and there’s absolutely no reason to ever be in a bad mood this close to the epic-ness that is Christmas.

Plus the festive waffles.

She can never forget the festive waffles. 

“Honey,” she says, reaching out to card her fingers through his hair; he allows that. “What’s the matter?”

“Just... leave it alone, Les,” he whispers. 

She exhales. “Leave what alone? Did I do something wrong?”

“Nope.”

Okay, short much?

“Ben, can you please talk to me? Shutting yourself away isn’t going to do us any favors.”

“Yeah?” he says. “Well neither will inviting my dad to spend three whole nights with us over the holidays.”

“Seriously?” she questions. “That’s what this is about? I did that so you guys could get some real bonding time together and so you could finally meet your half-sister.” Which is entirely true. Steve Wyatt scares Ben to death, and she knows that, but he’s his father. Their relationship has never been a sound, solid one, but Leslie hopes that, at least some time in the future, that can change. It’s unlikely that they’ll ever be close, but Ben being able to tolerate him is a step in the right direction in her book.

Ben rolls over to face her, and has he looked this exhausted all day? “You shouldn’t have done that without asking me.”

“You never would’ve said yes if I asked!” she reasons.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have.” But then his face suddenly softens. “Look, I don’t want to fight, okay? I’m exhausted, and I really don’t want my dad here, but I shouldn’t... be angry. I’m sorry.”

Leslie instantly shakes her head. “What? No. Don’t do that. You’re bringing up very valid points. I should’ve asked you, Ben. Honestly, the only reason why I didn’t is because I knew you’d shut me down, and I want things to be different between you and your dad.”

He nods. “I know,” he whispers. “And thank you for that, but... please at least tell me next time? I’ve thrown up three times today just thinking about him being here, and I really don’t like that feeling.”

She immediately encircles her husband in a massive hug, and he cuddles close, hot breath minty on her skin. “I’m sorry, Ben.”

“I’m sorry too, Les.”

“Do you think you’d be done ‘bah humbugging’ if I made you a calzone?”

He shakes his head, giving her a crooked grin. “I’d stop ‘bah humbugging’ if you made out with me.”

She smiles. “Now that I can do.” 

Her lips press against his, and everything in the world is right again.


	75. Christmas Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another Christmas prompt from the amazing BenjisCoolTimes.

“This is easily the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen,” Leslie says, pulling Ben in for a kiss before continuing to beam at their tiny babies. Wesley’s fresh from the NICU, and it’s one of their first whole days home together as a family, and Ben somehow dressed their infants as Christmas elves. Her heart melts, and she gently rubs a sleeping Sonia’s bare foot, relishing in the fact that they both brought these triple cherries into the world.

Stephen grins in his slumber, and they’re all the most beautiful elves in the universe. These parents certainly don’t need any presents this year because they received the best gifts in the world: Sonia, Stephen, and Wesley Knope-Wyatt, born an even twenty days before Leslie’s all time favorite holiday. They weren’t due to be in the world until Galentine’s Day, but, hey, this is so much better; they got to meet their babies early!

And, now that all three of them are home, there is no happier feeling in the universe.

“Well, Stevie pooped through the first outfit. Luckily, Daddy bought six of them to try and impress Mommy,” he says. “Did it work?”

She nods, tears swelling in her eyes. “It did.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Ben pecks the top of her head. “But it’s time for Mommy to lay back down.”

She shakes her head. “No. Let’s just watch them for five or ten more years.”

“I’m guessing you genuinely didn’t mean minutes, right?”

“They’re too precious, Ben. How am I not supposed to look at their tiny faces?”

He softly grabs her hand. “They’ll be here when you wake up.”

“I’m not tired,” she pouts.

He chuckles. “Haha. Nice try. Please, babe? You’re still recovering from the C-section, and I swear I’m a good babysitter.” 

Ben leads her down the hall to their bedroom, tucking her beneath their festive comforter. He slides on to the mattress, and Leslie immediately places her head on his chest. She may be a little sore from the C-section, but Ben’s had her on a rigorous nap and sleep schedule that leaves him practically no time to spare. Trust her, moments like these are already super rare in their house, and she’s soaking up his undivided love and attention while she can.

“Goodnight, babe. I love you,” she breathes out.

She feels another kiss in her hair and smiles. “I love you too, Leslie.”


	76. “C’mere. I’ll keep you warm.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a sick fic prompt from PawneeWafflesBen.

Ben hasn’t gotten out of bed in three days, so Leslie’s jaw nearly hits the floor when she finds him standing mostly upright in their master bathroom. There’s twice as many days worth of stubble growing on his sexy, angular chin, paired with dark bags beneath his bloodshot eyes and fresh from the shower hair. He brushes his teeth with one hand gripping the sink for good measure, and she wraps her arms around him carefully, relishing in the fact that her husband’s finally kicking this thing once and for all. 

“Well, good afternoon, Mr. Wyatt,” she says playfully, kneading the still warm flesh around his back through his long sleeved shirt. “Feeling better?”

He spits out the minty toothpaste, shrugging his shoulders at the same time. “I’m okay.”

It started a week and a half ago with a sore, irritated throat and a tiny bit of a fever, but it slowly, painfully morphed into the most wicked flu Leslie’s ever seen. Ann came over to pump him full of antibiotics and even gave him an inhaler for the nasty cough he developed, and her best friend’s actually still on stand by at the moment in case his symptoms worsen. He’s been practically unresponsive since Sunday, and he’s been bed-ridden since Tuesday morning. 

“You should lay back down,” she points out as his entire body begins to quiver. The bug he’s been fighting is definitely there, but he doesn’t seem overly concerned with it at the moment. He brushes his hair and picks up his electric razor until he realizes he’s obviously trembling way too much. “Wanna watch a movie?” she asks, figuring it’s something that doesn’t take a lot of energy. “I could turn on the original Star Wars.” They tried to watch Finding Nemo yesterday, but he didn’t make it for more than ten minutes before drooling all over her (his) t-shirt.

He nods. “Sounds good.”

She helps him under the covers, and he coughs into a wad of tissues while she sets up the film. His shivers are enough to shake the entire bed, and she instantly grabs his hand. “C’mere. I’ll keep you warm.” He complies wordlessly, lining up his body with hers and snuggling around her like a tiny, exhausted koala. His teeth chatter in her ear, and she rubs up and down an arm vigorously.

“Sorry about this,” her husband whispers hoarsely, kissing the skin on her neck thoughtfully.

“Don’t apologize, Ben. Everything’s fine, okay?”

He cuddles harder against her, and she can’t help but find herself falling love with him all over again.


	77. “Would you stop? I know you’re faking it.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a sick fic prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

“Knock it off, Stephen!” Sonia exclaims. “We all know you’re not actually sick!”

The middle of the their triplets pouts, and Ben watches him rub at his nose before swallowing thickly. “Fine. Whatever,” the eleven year old mumbles, hopping off the stool at the kitchen island to dump his nearly full bowl of cereal down the sink. Stephen begins to fill up a water bottle, which makes Ben’s eyebrows furrow. Stephen, their soda and caffeine addicted son, is actually choosing to drink water, something that he’s spotted Leslie doing on only a few rare occasions.

Those few occasions are usually when she’s under the weather. 

“Jeez, would you stop? I know you’re faking it,” Sonia says. “You just don’t wanna go to school today.”

Ben rubs the boy’s shoulder, and, in an instant, Stephen crumbles against him, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist and hiding his face in his chest. “Buddy,” he whispers. “Alright, go change into your pajamas. I’ll be upstairs in a few minutes, okay?” He should’ve seen the signs because yesterday wasn’t exactly Stephen’s best day. He fell asleep before dinner and had to be woken up, only to eat a few bites before sleeping the rest of the night away wordlessly. It was far too peaceful in the Knope-Wyatt household, and Ben knows better than anyone that it isn’t typically a good thing to have so much silence.

His son nods before leaving the room with his water bottle, and Sonia audibly groans.

“You’re just gonna let him get away with this?”

“Sonia, please stop, honey. He’s actually not feeling so good, okay?”

“Stephen plays people all the time! Remember when he tricked you into –” 

He stops his daughter right there. “I know you want to be right about this, but Stephen’s sick. He can’t go to school like that, so you’re going to be nice, get his homework for him, and bring it home after. Deal?”

Sonia folds her arms over her chest. “What do I get out of this?”

“My undying love and attention,” Ben deadpans.

“Twenty bucks?”

“No money.”

“A ride to the movies?”

“If you wait til this weekend.”

“Okay,” Sonia says, holding out her hand for him to shake. “Deal.”


	78. “Bless you! That was a good one.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is also a sick fic prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

Six eyes staring right up at him. Three noses to kiss. Six hands reaching out for his love and support. Three bellies to blow raspberries on. And, most importantly, three whole entire babies to hold and cuddle and kiss. Just for them. Their triple cherries are four months old, and it’s been the wildest, craziest, best four months of Ben’s entire life. Their early delivery really freaked him out and threw him for a loop, but that’s in the past, and today’s here.

Of course, today would be a lot better if Sonia and their boys were feeling well. 

It’s 2:13 AM, and he’s been up with his daughter since right around midnight. At the moment, he’s sitting in the recliner, rocking her rhythmically, soothingly while she looks at him with barely creaked open eyes. She’s so small and tiny, and he can’t imagine what a pesky cold feels like to a baby. It’s a cold that’s ravaged through their identical boys, leaving them with permanently watery eyes and stuffy noses and a slight wet cough that’s enough to send panic coursing through his veins every time he even thinks about it.

In his arms, Sonia stirs, and she sneezes.

“Bless you! That was a good one,” he whispers, reaching out to grab a tissue from the end table, wiping her tiny nose before sucking out some of the snot with that handy dandy tool parents just love so much. His baby girl settles back down, and Ben tugs a blanket over them both. He’s almost half asleep himself when he hears footsteps in the distance. “What’re you doing up?” he asks his wife, who’s hair is up in a messy bun as she yawns viciously.

She plops down on the couch. “Couldn’t sleep without you in bed. How is she?” 

He shrugs. “She’s a little better. How about the boys?”

“Wesley’s snoring like his daddy, and Stephen’s still out like a light.”

He chuckles slightly. “I miss you,” he whispers. 

“I miss you too,” she says, which is apparently enough motivation for him to scoot over in the recliner, allowing Leslie to curl up in the chair beside them. She places her head on his shoulder, and he’s so happy there’s a baby monitor next to her because he’s comfy, and Sonia’s asleep, and both of them need some z’s if they’re going to be of any use during the upcoming day. “Goodnight, Benjamin.”

“Goodnight, Lesliemin and Soniamin.”


	79. “No, take care of them first. I’ll be fine.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another sick fic prompt from the wonderful SakuraBlossomStorm.

All he hears is crying.

Crying freaking everywhere.

Sonia needs to be changed. Wesley is screaming his head off. Stephen’s fussing and whining. But Leslie’s kneeling down carefully in front of the toilet as he holds her hair back, and he’s trying so hard not to breakdown in a puddle of tears himself. Because his babies and wife are sick. His babies are too little and precious, and his wife is too sweet and caring, and she just had a C-section last month, so this definitely isn’t helping matters much. 

It’s only a matter of time before it catches up to him, but he’s going to shove that idea away for a few minutes longer.

“No, t-take care of them first. I-I’ll be fine,” Leslie mumbles as she lifts her head for the first time in nearly five minutes. “Seriously, Ben. They need you more than I do.”

He gulps. “Are you sure?”

She nods, panting and swallowing thickly before Ben tentatively helps her up. She shoves him weakly out of their master bathroom, and he sprints down the hall to comfort their babies. He instantly picks up Wesley because he’s clearly the most uncomfortable, and he quiets down almost right away. Ben rubs at his eye before maneuvering Stephen to where he’s close to Sonia for easy access to them both. He’s perfected the art of holding one baby while changing another, which seems impossible, but, trust him, it’s definitely a real thing.

“It’s okay, guys. You’re all okay.”

He finishes cleaning up Sonia, and Wesley’s asleep against his shoulder, and Stephen’s sprawled out, his hand on Sonia’s tummy. He gathers up the newborns in his arms as gently and swiftly as possible, moving them all to his and Leslie’s bedroom. He places the infants in their bassinet, covering them up before kissing each one of them on the cheek. They’re way too young to ever feel like this, and he pushes back more tears as he slides under the comforter. 

Ben immediately spoons up behind Leslie, rubbing her overheated hipbone as she snores the afternoon away.

And, yeah, he’s totally nauseous at the moment, but he’ll just ignore that and hold on to her for a bit longer.


	80. “Not that I’m complaining, but are you always this warm?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a sick fic prompt from the amazing BenjisCoolTimes.

The Bubble.

It’s so perfectly round and un-popped, filled to the brim with couch cuddles, late night food runs, showering together, and figuring out which History Channel documentaries are the best. And she especially loves everything about it when it comes to her boyfriend, Benjamin Franklin Wyatt. He’s taught and narrow like a sexy elfish king, and she wants nothing more than to rip his clothes off and make out with his face parts twenty-four seven, but she figures she probably shouldn’t do that.

Because, you know, he can’t be naked all the time, even if she really wants him to be.

Tonight, he is most definitely clothed, relaxing on her still somewhat cluttered sofa in jeans and a grey hoodie with a quilt pulled to his chest. He picked up JJ’s on the way home from work, stopping by her place and ultimately hunkering down for the night, which she’s definitely okay with. They’ve spent two nights together, and he snores pretty loudly, but everything’s fantastic and wonderful, and she hasn’t been this thrilled with a relationship in a very very long time.

“Wanna play Uno?” she questions, breaking the comfortable silence that’s filled the living room. She’s been quiet and still, enjoying just reading through a Parks Department memo with his socked feet in her lap, rubbing his tight little calves every now and then. “I have the cards around here somewhere. I even have that machine thing that shoots them out at you!”

Ben shrugs. “Can we watch a movie instead?”

It isn’t the first time during the evening where he’s made her eyebrows furrow and nose scrunch up. He didn’t eat dinner, and now he doesn’t want to play cards. But, still though, she doesn’t want to steamroll him into anything he doesn’t want to do because Ann says she has a bad habit of doing that, so she agrees. “What’re you thinking?”

Another shrug. “Halloweentown maybe? You said you liked that movie, right?”

She instantly hops up and practically jumps gleefully to her DVD player. “I love Halloweentown! It’s literally the best movie ever!”

Ben chuckles. “Okay, Chris,” he teases, which earns a cackle from her. 

Leslie sprawls out on the couch, and Ben wraps his arm around her waist as he fumbles with the blanket. She presses play, and why the hell is it so hot under here? She twists and wiggles her back into his front while he breathes quietly in her ear. “Not that I’m complaining, but are you always this warm?” Because she’s fairly positive he isn’t. She’s laid with him multiple times, but none of those occurrences make her feel this stifled and kind of uncomfortable.

“I dunno,” he says a bit too quietly for her liking.

And she sits right back up. “Are you sick?” she questions, reaching out to palm his forehead.

“I don’t think so,” he tells her, but it’s too late.

“I think you have a fever, Mr. Wyatt.” 

He shakes his head. “I’m fine, Leslie. Can you please start the movie?”

“Only if you let me take care of you.”

Ben gives her that sexy ass crooked grin. “You want to take care of me?”

“Of course. Always.”

She leans down to kiss his warm cheek, heading into her kitchen to make him some soup.


	81. Head in Lap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a platonic touch prompt from anonymous.

“Ben, hey,” Leslie says, waving her hand in front of her husband’s face. His hair endearingly messy and eyes only a little more than half open, he’s holding a couch pillow to his stomach as he leans his head against the cushions. She’s not necessarily surprised he’s zoning out like this; he’s been up since Sunday night, and now it’s Tuesday afternoon, and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him this wiped out. He passed that adorably goofy stage hours ago and hasn’t bothered to so much as flinch slightly in almost thirty whole, entire minutes.

Their newborn babies are sound asleep one of seven bassinets they own on the other side of Ben. With her still recovering from the C-section, he seriously won’t let her lift a finger to help out. Of course, she feeds their triple cherries and pumps multiple times a day, but she’s beginning to go stir crazy because Ben’s driving himself insane and tries to keep her in one spot for entirely too long. She can’t just sit here; she’ll die if she does. She’s already made sixteen new binders, and they’ve only been home all together as a family of five for a day and a half.

“You doing okay there, Benji?” she questions, rubbing his hoodie clad arm gently.

He nods very slowly, and, seriously, how can he be this irresistibly attractive? He’s too cute for actual words, and she feels that burning, passionate desire to jump his bones until he falls into a peaceful sleep, but, unfortunately, that’s out of the picture for at least two more weeks. He won’t even let her touch him just a little bit because he’s terrified she’ll hurt herself, despite the fact that she’s healing nicely and is able to move around more and more with each passing day.

Ben’s so careful, so attentive, so understanding, so ridiculously handsome. He’s very gentle and sweet with their babies. He sings to Sonia as he swaddles her, rubs Stephen’s back as the infant drifts off on his chest, reassures Wesley that everything’s okay and that Mommy and Daddy are here. And he helps her bathe, makes sure she doesn’t overexert herself in the slightest, cooks her mac ‘n’ cheese pizza twice a week even though he’s much more than sick of it by that point.

“Come here,” she whispers, tugging at his hand, causing him to jump. “You need to lay down.”

“The babies...” he mumbles, glancing over at their precious triplets sleeping there comfortably; he seems so weary.

She smiles. “They’re okay right now. But you, on the other hand, need a nap.” She grabs the pillow from his grasp, placing it on her lap before guiding his head there. She drapes a blanket from the back of the couch over his jeans, pulling it up to his chin as he snuggles his cheek into the fabric. His eyes slip closed immediately, and she cards her fingers through his soft hair as he quietly begins to snore.


	82. Forehead Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a platonic touch prompt from PawneeWafflesBen.

“These aren’t waffles,” Leslie points out as she takes a seat at her kitchen island, enjoying the wonderful view of her boyfriend’s butt as he flips omelets. Which, as she’s already stated, aren’t waffles, which is a no go for her, captain. Nope. She always eats waffles on Sunday, and no one can ever take that delicacy away from her, not even the forever handsome Ben Wyatt, who she doinked and heavily made out with four times between two and six AM; she's still pretty delightfully sore from it.

He nods, turning to her. “You’re very correct, m’dear,” he says. “We’re going to start a new Sunday tradition.”

“What?! No!” she exclaims. “Listen, I know you’re new around here, buddy, but, trust me, you do not want to go there.”

He grins crookedly, and, dammit, why the fuck is he always so attractive? “They’re just omelets, Les. I didn’t even put anything green in yours.”

She cringes at the thought of something green that isn’t an M&M or a Skittle or a piece of Laffy Taffy. Green is an unacceptable food color; everyone knows that! Well, obviously except Benjamin Franklin Wyatt, the one that she loves. And the fact that he’s standing here in her kitchen wearing nothing but boxers and his white undershirt from yesterday makes the idea, the concept of eating food with green gunk residing in it seem okay.

Wait. What is she saying?

“I just want waffles, Ben,” she whines. “It’s Waffle Sunday!”

He eyes her. “You usually eat waffles twice a day, baby,” he says. 

“Aaaaand?”

“And you need something other than waffles in your diet, Leslie.”

“Over my dead body,” she whispers, and Ben places her plated omelet in front of her. He rounds the island, pulling her close, and she just really loves the cinnamony smell of his cologne; it reminds her of the holidays, even though it’s only May, and December is forever and a half away. He kisses her forehead and gently cards his fingers through her hair. “Okay. Fine. I’ll eat it,” she caves, and how can she not? She can’t resist him. It’s literally impossible.

He smiles, and she swears her heart melts into a puddle of goo.


	83. Looping Arm Around Waist and Leaning Into the Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a platonic touch prompt from PawneeWafflesBen.

“Daddy!” four year old Sonia shrieks. “Watch me slide!” 

Ben immediately stops raking leaves and glances over just in time to watch his daughter go down the slide for the fifth time in three minutes. She runs all over the place with this unstoppable, adorable energy that constantly keeps him on his toes. And, good lord, the triplets are just so fast and can whiz past him without him actually ever noticing. Of course, though, he always notices eventually because they break their belongings pretty much constantly.

“Good job, honey! You’re getting so good at that.”

“I’m the best slider,” Stephen says, beginning to push his sister out of the way so he can earn some attention.

“Stevie,” Ben warns. “No shoving.”

The toddler rolls his eyes, and they have so much attitude, spunk, and sass that it sometimes makes his head spin. They’re very different people, but the constant vie for that level of awareness will probably always be there. Their triple cherries are growing up, and their personalities change and grow and morph with such an intense speed, and it’s very hard for him to believe they turn five next month. They’re just way too young to be turning five.

He starts raking right in time for Wesley to jump into his growing pile. “Surprise, Dad!” he shouts, and Ben instantly chuckles, dropping the rake and lifting his tiny son into the air. He’s so big; he doesn’t know why he refers to him as tiny. But Wesley’s their youngest triplet, the one who’s been the shyest and snuggliest since birth, and Ben knows for certain he’s never going to be ready to let that go. Last night, the two of them watched two hours of Food Network shows while everyone else was asleep, and how in the world are they almost five?

Ben puts Wesley down, and the little boy darts off to catch up with Sonia and Stephen, who are attempting to fly a dragon kite on this non-windy November day. He’s about to begin his chore once more when small arms snake around his waste, and he leans into the comforting touch of his wife. She cuddles her face into his back, and he rubs over her hand with his thumb. 

“Hi,” she says cutely. “I missed you.”

He turns around to face her, wrapping her up in a giant hug. “I missed you too,” he breathes against her skin. And it doesn’t matter in the slightest that they’ve known each other for years, have slept in the same bed and made babies and worked together. None of that matters because Ben finds himself falling more and more in love with this passionate, goofball of a woman with each and every passing second.

“It’s almost naptime,” she informs him, wiggling her eyebrows. “You know what that means.”

He kisses her gorgeous blond hair. “I’m very much looking forward to it, m’lady.”

“Let’s see if we can convince them to lay down a bit early. I have a surprise for you, my wonderful elf of a husband.”

See? 

How can he not love her more and more every single day?


	84. Pulling Into a Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is also a platonic touch prompt from the lovely PawneeWafflesBen.

“Why so glum, chum?” she questions, sitting down at the table beside her husband. Their eight year old triplets are busting foreign, unknown moves on the dance floor at April and Andy’s re-wedding they so desperately needed to have, and Ben’s sitting here looking like someone kicked the daylights out of his puppy. But, honestly, he seems more exhausted than anything; the ten hour drive here probably didn’t help matters too much, especially with three kids who refused to sit still, behave, or even act like relatively normal human beings.

He shrugs. “Tired, I guess.”

Leslie rubs his shoulder, and he smiles sadly with droopy eyes. “Are you sure nothing else is wrong?”

Another shrug. “I... Don’t you miss them being so little?” he questions. “They don’t even like to hug me in public anymore, Leslie. Stephen actually shoved me away earlier.”

“Well, that’s not true. Wes hugged you, like, an hour ago. I even saw it.”

He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his smooth, clean-shaven face. “But that’s Wes. He hugs me all the time.”

“See?” Leslie says. “They still love you, Ben, but they’re growing up. All three of them at the exact same time.”

“Maybe we should’ve had more kids,” he suggests. “I mean, I know I was terrified at the idea before, but now? Having a baby would be kinda fun.”

But, this time, it’s Leslie that shakes her head at the somewhat shocking idea. “They’re eight, honey. They’re in third grade and wanting to explore everything all the time, and that’s normal. It doesn’t mean they love you any less.”

His eyebrows furrow regardless. “You’re probably right.”

“Come on,” Leslie tells him, grabbing his hand as she stands back up. “Dance with me.”

Ben exhales, but follows her on to the dance floor regardless, where their kids gather excitedly around them.


	85. Pushing Glasses Into Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a platonic touch prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

It’s not exactly a secret that her husband hates his glasses.

He’s never gone to work wearing them. Never went to the grocery store or pumped gas wearing them. Their kids are almost three years old, and Wesley, their own glasses wearing toddler, blew a gasket this morning when his daddy came downstairs, shooting into his arms and proudly proclaiming that he’s just like him. Of course, Ben smiled at that, but she could tell he was sort of scowling because he doesn’t like the way they feel on his face or the way they make him look.

Even if Leslie herself has been telling him for years that he’s hot as fuck in them, that she wishes he would wear them more.

But, now, he doesn’t have a choice. 

He’s the new owner of a corneal abrasion, and his old contacts were the cause. He has to wait until his new, clean, safer ones come in, as well as hold off on putting them back in until his right eye heals. So, naturally, he’s been frowny and even a little mopey all day, even though it’s Saturday, and their kids are happily playing in the living room as they wash dishes side by side because, guess what, their dishwasher is broken too.

Not that she minds. He cleans and rinses them, while she dries and puts them away. It’s domestic and blissful, and she’s just about to say something about it when she spies the amazingly handsome black framed glasses beginning to slide off his nose, dangerously close to slipping into the bubbly water. She carefully pushes them back into place, and he gives her a small, crooked grin before leaning over to kiss her lips. “I’m sorry I’ve been in a bad mood today.”

And he always somehow leaves her breathless, no matter the occasion or how tiny the kiss or how slight the gesture is. “It’s okay; I understand. But you really do look great in those.”

He smiles once more. “And Wes seems to like them. Maybe I should wear them more.”

“Mmm... I like the sound of that,” she whispers, and Ben cards his slightly soapy fingers through her hair as their lips touch again.


	86. Giving a Foot Rub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another platonic touch prompt from the great SakuraBlossomStorm.

“You need to relax,” Ben says for the thousandth time in an hour, and Leslie swears she’s about to chew his head off and spit it right back out if he doesn’t shut the hell up. So what? She’s a little pregnant and kind of cranky, and her feet and back are killing her, but she can work. She can totally, definitely work. And who cares if she’s been hiding out in her husband’s office because Donna and Jerry and Tom and Ron and literally everyone were annoying her.

She sighs. “I’m okay, Ben.”

He shakes his head and hops up from his desk, rounding to the other side. And how is he so agile and fast? Okay, that’s it. These babies need to make their appearance, like, now because she’s literally and actually going crazy. She wants to go home. She wants a nice, hot bath. She wants a mac ‘n’ cheese pizza and fries and a gallon of soda and a trash bag of mashed potatoes. And, ooh, maybe some ice cream. Ben’s favorite flavor is Rocky Road, which sounds super enticing at the moment. 

“Leslie...” And he’s doing that thing where the worry lines on his forehead are super prominent.

“Honey, I swear to God I’ll –”

But he stops her there, turning her a bit in the chair, placing both of her swollen, irritated feet on top of his lap. He gently removes her flats since she can no longer wear heels because these babies are probably demons and begins kneading into her angry flesh. Oh. Oh God. This is... Wow. This feels amazing. She lets her head dip back as she closes her eyes against the soft lighting of his City Manager’s office and allows herself to relax for just a second.

She swears it’s just for a second.

Swears.

But he keeps rubbing her feet as if this isn’t a sort of strange thing to do at work, and he doesn’t even flinch when his assistant walks in the room to place a pile of papers on his desk. He ignores anything and everything for her, simply focusing and zoning in on the fact that she might be a little cranky and exhausted, and she never ever wants to leave from this very spot. Because he’s doing magical things with his hands right now that shouldn’t stop.

“Better?” he whispers as he keeps massaging her left foot.

“Mhmmm... I love you...”

He chuckles. “I love you too. Now just relax. Leave everything else to me.”


	87. "Have a good day at work."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a 100 ways to say "I love you" prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

He’s late.

It’s his first day back in three and a half weeks, and he’s already running late.

Leslie’s still in a very deep by the time Ben emerges from the bathroom with little to no time to spare before work, his heart pounding in his chest as he buttons his shirt. She’s buried beneath their flannel comforter to combat against the vicious late December temperatures with only messy bits of her gorgeous blond hair poking out, and every fiber of his being wants to snuggle against her and catch some much needed z’s before their newborn triple cherries wake up. 

Stephen kept them both up all night, causing him to sleep through several alarms because his normal loud, kissing alarm clock is exhausted and still recovering from her emergency C-section. Ben squeezed out as much paternity leave as possible, and today’s his first day back as City Manager. Of course, he’s worked here and there from the hospital or home, but it’s been next to impossible with the never ending demands that come with having triplets. But it’s been so wonderful, and he’s gotten a lot of quality time with his recently expanded family. 

He’s not ready to go back. Marlene should be here literally any minute, and his wife’s still cuddly and warm, and he can’t help but smile at her as he tugs on his shoes and throws his coat over the shoddy tie work he’s got going on at the moment. He’ll never ever understand how Leslie’s so strong, so confident, such a fantastically amazing woman and mother. But he does know that he’s incredibly lucky to have someone like her in his life because, hello, his wife’s the most coolio beans person in the galaxy, and she’s too cute to resist.

Ben pulls on a hat, leaning down to kiss what he can see of her forehead. “I love you,” he breathes out and is about ready to walk away when she stirs.

“Where y’goin’?” she slurs, struggling to sit up slightly.

He frowns. “Work.”

“I thought that was tomorrow?”

He shakes his head. “Unfortunately not. It’s today.”

Ben swears he sees tears swelling in Leslie’s eyes, and he instantly takes a seat on the bed as she wraps her arms around him. She buries her face in his neck, and she’s shaking a little. He rubs her back and massages around her spinal cord, and, yep, there are tears sliding down his button up. “I don’t want you to go back,” she whispers.

“I don’t want to go either, honey,” he tells her honestly. “I’m gonna miss you and the babies so much.” 

It’s 7:34 by the time Ben glances at the bedside clock, and he jolts. “Have a good day at work,” Leslie says a bit sadly, but she smiles at him nonetheless.

“I love you, Les.”

“I love you too, Benjamin.”


	88. “Close your eyes, and hold out your hands.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is also a 100 ways to say "I love you" prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

“Not now, Ben,” Leslie says, pushing past her husband with a quick huff. 

It’s not his fault, and she’s not trying to be rude, but today’s been hell between having three snotty eighteen month olds and the A/C barely working in their house. And, well, it also doesn’t exactly help that she’s crashing hard and fast from her NutriYum candy bar feast and that she’s been kept up the last two nights in a row because Ben’s snoring has a mind of its own. It’s usually super loud, but it’s been super extremely fucking loud here lately.

She loves him to death, but come on. She needs sleep.

“What did I do?” he questions, stopping to pick up a fussy Wesley on the way to their bedroom. Sonia and Stephen are toddling around, wiping the remnants of their congestion on the walls, carpet, and everything else in sight. Ben’s t-shirt is even coated in the stuff, and his hairs slick with sweat, and why does he sound nasally now too? Oh God. No. Not him. But maybe that’s the reason he’s been snoring like that because she almost shoved two miniature corks she saved from their wedding night up his nostrils to make him stop.

She sighs. “Nothing,” she tells him as she enters the room. “Nothing at all.”

Ben’s eyebrows furrow. “Okay... What’s wrong?”

“I just told you that there’s nothing wrong.”

He shakes his head. “Les, something’s obviously going on. What can I do to help?”

She flops down on their bed face first, pulling her pillow over her head. Okay. No. She needs sleep. That’s the only way anything will ever remotely be alright again. It’s like two large elephants are wrestling in her brain, pushing and shoving her brain into her skull. Wesley’s whining in the background as Ben coos and sits on the mattress, rubbing her bare calf with his warm, clammy hand. She moans as he fingers knead deliciously into her flesh.

“I wanna nap,” she mumbles into the comforter.

“A nap?” Ben questions. “You got it. I’ll put the triplets down, and we’ll nap together.”

“Noooo...” she mumbles. “Your snoring’s too loud.”

“Oh,” he says. “Okay.”

He goes to stand up with Wesley still in his arms, but Leslie frowns and shoots into a sitting position. “Don’t go! I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she admits. “I’m just tired.”

“I know, baby,” he says softly, shifting to place his feet on the floor.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna put the babies to bed. I’ll be right back.”

Tears nearly spill over her cheeks as he leaves, and she wants him to wrap her up in his strong, solid arms and cuddle her to sleep. She knows she hasn’t been resting properly and that his snoring may or may not be related to that, but, honestly, he’s probably got whatever the triplets have, so it isn’t exactly fair to hold that against him. Plus, he’s the only person who makes her feel better when her emotions are out of whack like they are at the moment.

“Close your eyes, and hold out your hands,” she hears a few minutes later, and she jumps.

She obeys, smiling sadly at the tiny amount of hoarseness of his voice. And, sure enough, something’s placed into her hands. She opens her eyes and beams brightly the second she spies the waffle earrings nestled in her palms. “They’re so cute!” she exclaims, immediately taking out her others and replacing them with the obviously better pair. Ben grins sheepishly as he rubs the back of his neck, and she instantly squishes him into a giant, massive hug.

“I’m glad you like them,” he tells her. “I’m sorry you haven’t been sleeping well, though.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t be sorry about that. I’m sorry for being cranky.”

Ben clicks on the ceiling fan with the remote, and he snuggles himself around her. “Get some rest, babydoll.”


	89. “I think you’re beautiful.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another 100 ways to say "I love you" prompt from the lovely SakuraBlossomStorm.

“I can’t go anywhere like this,” Leslie announces as she leaves the bathroom. She looks... horrible. Frightening even. Definitely not herself. If she's being realistic, she knows she’s not all that and a bag of chips to look at, but now she’s three and a half months pregnant with triplets, and her bump isn’t exactly a bump anymore. It’s like a too round basketball protruding from her once very flat stomach, and it’s so the furthest thing from attractive ever. She rubs her bare belly and frowns.

Ben glances up from his novel. “Um, I thought we were going to bed?” 

Which she supposes is true, especially since he’s wearing nothing but boxers and a dangerously oversized t-shirt with a thousand tiny holes around the collar. Tiny. He’s so tiny and small, but his figure is powerful and captivating, and how is he still this handsome? He should be getting fatter and fatter with each passing second like her, but no. Benji Wyatt stays the same size while she quickly morphs into a deformed T-Rex with a fucking whale belly. She’s a Whale-Rex, and Ben’s this slender, sexy little elf that she desperately wants to bone.

“Oh... Yeah...” she grumbles, shutting off the bathroom light before sulking toward their bed. It’s moments like these where she wishes she could just flop down on her stomach like Ben did the second they got home from work, strung out after a wicked phone conversation with his father that left him shaking slightly. But she can’t do that either. She can’t drink coffee. Waffles hate her. She’s been craving calzones like a motherfucker. And the list can go on and on and on.

Ben scoots closer to her the second she sits on the mattress, kissing her hair as she cuddles her cheek on his shoulder. “You okay?”

She shrugs. “I’m tired of being pregnant. I mean, I love our babies to pieces, but look at what they’re doing to me!”

“I think you’re beautiful,” he tells her.

She shakes her head. “But I’m not. You should put on your glasses or something and see the truth. I’m a Whale-Rex, Ben.”

“Whale-Rex?” he questions. “You’re nothing like a Whale-Rex, Leslie. You’re beautiful. So so beautiful. And the babies only add to that beauty.”

“Really? You’re still attracted to this?” she asks, motioning to her swollen, bloated stomach. 

He leans down to kiss it three times, and she feels herself seriously re-falling in love with Ben all over again. She’s never had any doubts in her mind that he’s going to be an absolutely perfect father, one who changes diapers without complaints, and one who snuggles his children every night with her. He’s so much softer now that she’s pregnant, and she honestly didn’t believe that was possible because he’s always been so sweet, so gentle with her before.

“Always, love. Always,” he whispers.


	90. "Don't cry."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another 100 ways to say "I love you" prompt from PawneeWafflesBen.

So, if she’s being honest, this has easily been one of the worst days in history. Like literally in history. The Titanic sinking or The Great Depression or Sweetums discontinuing their Chocolate Chocolate Chocolate Extreme-O’s cereal has nothing on today. Because her favorite slacks have bubble gum covering almost the entirety of its surface thanks to April and Andy, all of her clerical work for her newest park proposal was ruined by stupid fricking Jeremy Jamm in that polka dot paper shredding accident, and Ben’s stuck in bed at home.

It’s no surprise to her that tears swell in her blue eyes, threatening to spill over with each passing second as her heart thumps wickedly, relentlessly in her chest. Everything’s so much easier with her sexy, brand new City Manager of a husband at work. She’s been recalled from City Council, and he got a promotion, and Ann left a few days ago, and Ben wasn’t even there today to help her pick up the pieces of twelve agonizing days worth of work. She just... She needs to see him.

He always makes her feel better, even when he himself doesn’t feel well. It doesn’t take much, honestly. A hug from him seems to make her invincible, and one simple, tiny peck on the cheek can go a super long way coming from him. So, the second she enters their house on this chilly early November evening, she trudges upstairs to their bedroom, unable to find the energy to run and greet him, even though that’s what she so desperately wants.

Ben’s asleep, snoring loudly and curled into a ball on his side. Their thick comforter cozied around him, he snuggles his still burning cheek into his pillow. He coughs wetly into the surface every now and then. Tissues are scattered across the hardwood floor from where he accidentally missed the miniature trashcan, and the cold washcloth that was on his forehead earlier is missing, probably hidden somewhere in the mass of blankets he needed in order to rest easy last night. 

She knows she should give him his antibiotics and have him drink some fluids, but, instead, she lies down in front of him with zero hesitations. Ben stirs, slinging a surprisingly heavy arm across her waist as he plants tiny kisses on her neck that make her shiver. He isn’t wearing a shirt or socks and has managed to curl around her completely and entirely. 

It’s exactly what she needs.

And it’s also exactly what causes tears to spill over her cheeks and for her to choke back a sob.

“You okay?” Ben croaks out, and she feels him shift slightly, carding his fingers through her hair before massaging her side. “Hey, don’t cry,” he whispers.

“I just missed you today,” she tells him. And she ends up rolling to her other side and hiding her face in his chest as he hugs her. “I’m sorry...”

Ben coughs. “Don’t be sorry, love. What’s wrong? Can I do anything to help?”

“Just... hold me for a little bit, please?”

He latches around her a bit more. “You got it.”


	91. “You’re important too.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a 100 ways to say "I love you" prompt from PawneeWafflesBen.

He’s so tired he’s sure he’s actually seeing sounds.

By sounds, he means screeches. And it’s supposed to be the precious shrieks of his toddlers, but all he hears are deafening sirens instead. He nearly clamps his hands over his ears because Leslie’s upstairs showering, and he’s feeding their twenty-two month old triplets, and he probably shouldn’t even be touching their food at this point. Because his brain’s melting, and his eyes won’t stop throbbing, and there’s a sharp, stabbing sensation in his lower back.

Ben rubs his forehead and then proceeds to refill Stephen’s sippy cup with orange juice. The boy claps happily and practically chugs it down in one gulp. He grimaces and scratches his cheek and feels his entire world shaking beneath him. Earthquake? For real? Or is he just so exhausted that he can’t even tell the difference at this point? He doesn’t know. But what he does know is he’s positive he’s falling apart, cracking open at the seams, and he needs sleep.

Their babies’ sleep schedule has been all over the place for the better part of two weeks. Sonia wakes up every night at two AM screaming her head off, and Ben gets up with her. Stephen yells around four-thirty with a dirty diaper, and he refuses to go back to bed, leaving him with two out of three kids up and ready to rock and roll for the day before the clock even strikes five. Leslie’s been sleeping longer actually (which he’s very thankful for; she needs the rest), and she gets up with Wesley around five-thirty, joining the three of them in the living room.

He loves his kids to death, but he’s pretty confident he’s diving off the deep end.

Leslie enters the kitchen with a bright, happy grin on her face, and Ben smiles slightly as she quickly pecks his lips. But his entire body hurts, and their mattress is begging from him to come lie down, and he’s losing grip on reality. Last night, he talked to a ficus about baseball stats for roughly two and a half minutes before realizing it wasn’t his wife. 

“Good morning!” she exclaims to their kids, and he winces, rubbing at the back of his neck.

There are three different pitched squeals of delight.

And is it normal for him to want to crawl into a deep, dark cave and never return?

No, right?

He loves his babies to bits and pieces. He’d do anything and everything for them. Always and forever.

But, at this particular moment, he’d give anything just to lie down in bed. 

Stephen babbles, and Sonia cackles, and Wesley throws Cheerios across the room.

And it’s so much noise. So much noise.

He’s in his own little pain-filled world when his wife waves her hand in front of his face. 

“Um, you alright there, Benji?”

Ben nods, but that sends lightning bolts of shocking electricity racing down his spine. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, scrunching her adorable nose. She makes a move to put her hand on his forehead, but he backs away instead.

“I’m fine, Les. Just tired.”

“I don’t think so,” she tells him. “You’ve been acting funny for the last few days.”

He glances down at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“I think you should stay home today. I’ll take the babies to my mom’s, and I’ll stop by during lunch to check up on you. You’re important too, Ben.”

She takes his hand in hers, rubbing over it gently with her thumb, and he crumbles against the touch. He wraps his arms around her, leaning down to snuggle his face into her neck as she kneads the tender flesh around his back. “I love you,” he whispers. “And I love our monster babies.”

Leslie chuckles. “We love you too. Now go upstairs, put on some PJs, and take the best nap of your life.”


	92. "Can I have this dance?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a 100 ways to say "I love you" prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

“Stevie, you’re such a big boy!” Leslie squeals. Okay. Her kids are, without a doubt, the cutest kids in the entire galaxy, and she must show the world, but more specifically her husband, how five month old Stephen Knope-Wyatt is sitting up completely on his own. Sonia keeps trying to tug herself up, and Wesley’s a bit too preoccupied with his current “chewing on Daddy’s shirt” adventure. Their middle triplet giggles in delight as Leslie smiles brightly at him. 

They’ve grown up so much in these last five months. They started out so small, so helpless, but no one would know that by looking at them now. Stephen’s so expressive and cheeky. Sonia’s so smart and helpful. Wesley’s so shy and sweet. And, honestly, Leslie knows this precious time with them will go too fast because it already has, and she wants to cherish as many of these moments as possible, which is precisely why she shakes Ben’s bare foot.

He’s sprawled out on the couch, left arm dangling over the side and fingers grazing the hardwood floor. It’s only one PM, but he had a doctor’s appointment today, and Leslie had the day off anyway, so they’ve been spending some quality time together. Or they were spending quality time together because her husband’s currently asleep, and now Wesley’s slumped against his back, still chewing thoughtfully on Ben’s sleeve with his eyes drooping closed.

“What?” he says, shifting a bit, and Leslie carefully removes their youngest triplet from possible danger before handing him over to Ben, who cradles him gently, placing a kiss on his forehead. “Everything okay?” he asks, and there are smudges beneath his gorgeous brown orbs, but he grins at her nonetheless. She rubs his shin beneath his loose jeans.

She nods. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to let you know that your son is sitting up on his own!”

“Seriously?” Ben questions, shooting into his own upright position with Wesley in tow. 

And, sure enough, Stephen’s relaxing on their sofa, chewing on the remote control to the TV. He doesn’t even need help! 

“They’re so big now,” Leslie whispers, and her husband grabs her hand, peppering kisses in her hairline.

And, at that moment, Stephen gnaws on the remote in the perfect spot to spark their house in music pouring from the surround sound speakers Ben installed on one of their very first nights here. They exchange grins, and Leslie laces their fingers together as they sit in a comfortable, loving silence. Her husband's only the best person ever.

Until Ben gets to his feet with Wesley still in his arms, holding out his hand. “Can I have this dance, m’lady?”

She blushes, and she has no idea how, after all these years, she’s so ridiculously in love with this man. He’s so stunning and handsome, and he has a butt that could make an angel hang itself. He impregnated her with his super sperm and gave them three marvelous babies. He makes her feel special, loved, taken care of every second of every day.

And he wraps around her with one of their five month old son’s in his soft, soothing grasp, tugging her close until their lips touch.

He kisses her, and she shivers.


	93. "Can I kiss you?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another 100 ways to say "I love you" prompt from the amazing BenjisCoolTimes.

“So, I think we may or may not have lost a kid,” Ben says, entering the room with only two four year olds in his arms instead of three. It’s never that hard to find Wesley considering he usually eagerly follows Ben wherever he goes, and Sonia’s going through another Daddy attachment phase, so that always, of course, leaves Stephen. He’s the troublemaker of their clan, the one who finds mischief no matter where he goes. He’s just cheeky and lovable in every single way possible.

But his wife’s stressed and a little cranky as she packs for their summer vacation to Disney World. The babies have been shrieking, screaming, and shouting about it for weeks now, and even Ben himself must admit that he’s pretty excited about this. Seeing their triplets interact and talk about their favorite characters, snacks, and rides will be a major highlight in his life, and he can’t wait to snap about a billion pictures of them having an absolute blast.

Well, that is if they even make it there.

They’re taking an airplane, and that’s bound to cause a brief pout of panic and anxiety that leaves Ben breathless and grasping for Xanax, while Leslie crumples in her seat with that “uh oh” look plastered across her adorably scrunched face. But they’re doing this, and they’re going to do it good. Their kids are going to remember this trip for, hopefully, a long time. Yes, they’re only four, but that’s plenty old enough to recall Disney World and all of its excitement. 

“How many outfits have you packed?” she questions, grabbing her giant pink Sharpie.

“Fifteen each,” he tells her.

“What about their cute Mickey ears?”

“Done and done, buttercup,” he says. “Hey, why don’t you relax for the evening? We don’t leave until the day after tomorrow.”

She shakes her head, and she smells like vanilla with a hint of lemon as he rubs her arm. Wesley and Sonia begin to wiggle and kick, so he sets them on the ground and grins as the pitter-patter of bare feet echo throughout their house. “I don’t have time to relax tonight, Ben. Everything has to be perfect, and we need the perfect amount of outfits, and I still have to pack snacks, and –”

“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly. He needs her. He always needs her. But, at the moment, she needs to cool down and realize that this trip is already very well organized, and they’ve been preparing for a solid month at this point.

Leslie stops mid-sentence and nods almost shyly. “Of course,” she whispers.

He pulls her close and ignores it when the missing Stephen announces himself whilst screaming, “Ewwww!”


	94. “Shit, your fever’s really high; we need to get this down.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a sick fic prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

Guilt.

That’s what he’s currently swimming in.

Well, guilt and a fuck ton of mucus. 

Ben barks wetly into the sleeve of his hoodie, but he supposes it really doesn’t matter anymore seeing as he’s already infected the one person he was desperately trying not to infect. He’s been extra precautious; he’s been sleeping in the guest bedroom and hasn’t held her hand, kissed her gorgeous lips, or even breathed in her general direction for three days. Clearly, he has horrible luck because Leslie woke up this morning feverish and puking her guts out.

If one would call this “morning.” Sure, technically it’s 2:12 AM, but he’s exhausted and only emerged from his blanket cocoon to get some Gatorade. He’s positive he wouldn’t have heard his wife struggling if he didn’t have that sudden urge for something that didn’t taste like death and most likely wouldn’t make him throw up. But, his wife’s caught the flu too, and she’s on her knees in front of the throne Ben himself spent an entire night with not too long ago. 

He rubs her trembling, overheated back, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. He coughs, and she coughs, more grossness exiting her body as Ben’s vision spins. “Shit…” he mumbles. “Your fever’s really high; we need to get this down.” His voice is mushy and caked in congestion as another wave of nausea slams into Leslie. He stands on shaky legs as he wets a washcloth, measures a dose of medicine, and gives her a Dixie Cup of water to swish around in her mouth.

“You… Y-You–” Leslie tries to stammer out, but Ben just flushes the mess away, pulling on her arm to gently get her to lie her back against his front. He lifts her (his) thin cotton t-shirt and begins to rub soothing, slight circles on his stomach as his wife cuddles her cheek into his collarbone. He hates this. He hates this so much. Leslie has a lot of work to do, and she’s a very busy woman, and he ruined her. “Are you okay?” he hears his wife squeak out.

How did he ever get so extremely lucky? She’s sick. She got sick from him. And she’s wondering how he’s doing? 

Leslie Knope is the most amazing, astonishing person in the universe.

No. The galaxy. She’s the cutest Baby Smurf in the galaxy.

And, yeah, this may be the copious amounts of NyQuil talking, but it’s the same nonetheless.

“I’m fine, love,” he tells her. “Do you think you’re ‘kay to go back t’bed?”

She nods slightly, and he somehow musters the strength, the energy to lift her into his arms. Except, for whatever reason, this is the downstairs bathroom, and Ben’s positive he can’t carry her upstairs. So, he opts for the guestroom instead, which has a kind of scratchy comforter, so he’s been sleeping on top of it, buried beneath their thousands of other quilts and blankets. He tucks her in with his own favorite cover, hoping it may bring a form of relief to her.

Which, apparently, it just might because she snuggles deeper into the bundle and sighs contently. 

“Love you, Ben,” she breathes out the second he lies down beside her, tangling their bare feet together.

“Love you, Les,” he whispers.


	95. “How long have you been throwing up for?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another sick fic prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

He only places his feet on the floor because his bladder feels like a balloon that’s about to burst. Trust him, he doesn’t like the idea of leaving the comfort of his plush blanket cocoon, especially after how hellish last night was, but, hey, he really needs to piss. And, somehow, he’s still on the couch, even though he swears he remembers trekking upstairs to the bedroom. Except, clearly, he’s going crazy because that didn’t happen, and the familiar ending credits of The Empire Strikes Back plays silently in the background. What’s going on? Why isn’t he in bed with Leslie?

Ben makes his way down the hall, aiming only to go to the bathroom and then begin the long, harrowing journey to wrap himself around his wife. But the bathroom door is closed, and he taps on the wooden surface lightly, frowning as he hears the familiar sound of retching. Shit. Fuck. Stephen. Their seven year old son came home from school earlier with an upset stomach and a fever. Leslie had ushered him to bed after getting him in soft pajamas, but he didn’t sleep for very long before he was throwing up violently while Ben cooked dinner.

He turns the knob and opens it up to see Stephen on his knees in front of the toilet, coughing and sputtering violently. Ben instantly sits beside him, rubbing his little boy’s back as Stephen whimpers against the touch. “Oh, buddy. Shh… It’s okay,” he coos, and his son lies against him the second he’s finished, gripping on to his stomach. Sweat drips from his forehead, and Ben cards his fingers through the thick brown mess that is Stephen Knope-Wyatt’s unruly hair.

“I don’t feel so good,” he murmurs, his burning cheek pressed on Ben’s thigh. 

“I know, pal. How long have you been throwing up for?”

Stephen shrugs slightly. “Not very long. Few minutes maybe.”

“I think it’s safe to say you’ll be staying home tomorrow.”

And, at that, he swears he sees life re-enter his eyes, which are now creaked open fairly wide. “Really?”

Ben nods. “You can’t go to school throwing up and running a fever.”

“Sweet!” Stephen exclaims, but then he immediately burrows back in on himself, wincing at the pain and coughing. 

“Couch or bed?” Ben asks, still running his fingers through his son’s hair.

“I think couch,” he says. “I kinda already puked in my bed… Please don’t be mad…”

“I’m not mad at all, Stevie,” he reassures, picking him up and allowing Stephen to wrap his scrawny arms around Ben’s neck. He sits him down on the sofa, but, without any hesitation, Stephen clings tighter until Ben gets the message and lets him lie down on his chest. He hasn’t done this since the triplets were around five; they mostly just sleep snuggled against his side at this point, but he’ll do anything to make his middle child feel a bit better. “Get some rest, kiddo.” 

He tugs a quilt over his little boy, and Stephen begins lightly snoring a few moments later.


	96. "I don't think I've ever seen you this sick."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is also a sick fic prompt from the wonderful SakuraBlossomStorm.

Henry sent him home from Chicago. 

His own brother didn’t even want him around.

Granted, this probably has something to do with the fact that Ben’s been running a fever of 102 for three days straight and has been coughing up his lungs for twice as long, but come on. He’s never felt better in his life! Well, okay, maybe that’s not exactly true. He’s been kind of run down and under the weather for a bit, but who cares? It’s all goody-goody. But, now, he’s back in Pawnee after less than a day’s visit after his brother claimed that he absolutely can’t risk his young daughter catching whatever he has.

But, no matter how much he tried to reason that he wasn’t contagious, Henry wanted him gone. Alison, Henry's wife, gave him medicine, but that was it before he was sent on his way. Ben guesses he wasn’t trying to be mean and was actually looking out for his kid, but Ben flew all the way there to see him, and then he was sent away. Just like that. Like an old sack of… potatoes or something. He doesn’t even know. What he does know is that this airport’s freezing balls, and the draft hurts his skin as he waits for Leslie to come pick him up.

Hmm. Maybe he should wait outside. Cars can’t come to where the planes are flying and stuff.

So, he and his rolling suitcase go to the great outdoors as Ben coughs into his scarf, like he has been for hours now. His chest hurts. Really really hurts. And his eyes are all gross and bloodshot, and he just waits to lay down with Leslie because Henry made him leave. He actually wanted to see his brother. But he’s tired and sort of queasy, and there’s something poking his right foot, but he doesn’t want to bother taking off his shoe because airports are weird and strange.

Ben sputters, smiling the instant he sees his Saturn with Leslie in the driver’s seat. He waves and grins crookedly, tossing the suitcase carelessly in the backseat as the cold rain pelts at him. When did it start raining? The sky just got, like, all foggy and grey, and the sun should be out because the sun is nice. Leslie. Leslie’s nice like the sun, and she’s so pretty. He doesn’t know how he got a wife that’s so pretty and sweet and gorgeous.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this sick,” she whispers, pushing his bangs back with her fingers. “I already had Dr. Harris prescribe you some antibiotics, so we’re gonna stop by the pharmacy and then get you horizontal for a bit, okay?” 

He nods. “Horizontal’s a funny word…”

The car’s hot, and his coat’s sticking to him, and his hoodie, long sleeved shirt, and other long sleeved shirt are soaked. Stop. He needs to get out of here. Doesn’t Leslie realize the car’s trying to suffocate him? Cars aren’t supposed to be able to kill people. They aren’t robots. Oh shit. What if they are? What if they took over Pawnee while he was in Chicago, and they’re going to eat his soul? Do robots eat souls? He isn’t sure. But, suddenly, the temperature changes from freakishly hot to hellishly cold, and he wants to go home. And he wants to cuddle Leslie.

“Ben?” he hears, but it sounds super mushy. “You doing alright?”

He coughs wetly. “I’m perfect now that you’re here, Baby Smurf.”

She grabs his hand and does that thumb rubby thing. Ben leans his head back, closing his eyes and enjoying his wife being by his side.


	97. “You had me at ‘free pizza.’”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from waffles-junior.

Sometimes, Leslie doesn’t understand her kids at all.

They turned nine a few days ago, and they’re such strange, no longer all that tiny creatures. Sonia’s been anti-waffle for a couple months now, swearing she’ll never eat another fluffy, beautiful delicacy as long as she lives (but, hey, it isn’t Leslie’s fault her daughter’s insane). Stephen, here recently, is only interested in two things: pizza and video games. And Wesley, while he is easily their most content child, has been unnaturally clinging to Ben more and more as the days pass.

It’s a snowy late Saturday morning. Ben offered to make breakfast for everyone, but he’s since fallen back asleep on the couch, curled in a ball as Wesley sits at the opposite end, watching the TV without his glasses. He’s squinting, and Leslie wants to run to his and Stephen’s bedroom to grab them for him really quickly, but her husband’s pillowed head is in her lap, and she loves carding her fingers through his thick locks as he snores the hours away.

And Stephen? The kid isn’t even awake yet. He takes after his dad in that department. While she, Sonia, and Wesley are all fairly early risers, Ben needs an additional hour or two of sleep to be functional, and Stephen needs twice that. Except, now, Leslie’s stomach is growling, and Sonia enters the living room with that look on her face that just screams “get ready to hear an opinion.”

“I’m starving!” she exclaims, which causes Ben to jolt, but he settles down almost instantly, which Sonia apparently also has an opinion about. “Uh uh. Come on, old man. You have children to feed.” Is she really only nine? Because Leslie swears she sounds more and more like her with everyday that passes. Ben pouts and rolls on to his other side, hiding his face in her stomach as she continues to run her fingers through his hair. 

“I’m pretty hungry too,” Wesley admits. “And it’s almost lunchtime.”

“Way to go, guys!” Sonia reiterates. “You’ve effectively let your kids starve. Stephen’s probably in a food coma.”

Her husband grumbles, and it tickles her skin. Poor guy. And, she guesses, poor triplets. Because Ben’s clearly exhausted, even though it’s well past eleven at this point, and her kids are, apparently, dying from a lack of nutrition. Leslie somehow finds a way to maneuver herself out from beneath the father of her children and heads to Wesley and Stephen’s room. She turns around just in time on the stairs to see Ben envelop both Wesley and Sonia in a hug, and she smiles insanely brightly. She loves her babies and her husband so much.

She knocks on the door slightly before entering. Stephen’s starfished out on top of his covers, clad in a long sleeved shirt and pajama pants with dinosaurs covering the surface. His side of the room is littered in soda cans and candy bar wrappers, while Wesley’s side is neat and pristine. She takes a seat on the edge of his mattress, rubbing his back as he moans and whines. Wow. Stephen’s identical to her in every instance, but, when it comes to sleep, he mimics his father almost perfectly (the only real difference is that Ben will get up when he knows he has to).

“You hungry, Stevie?” she questions quietly, still kneading the flesh around his spine.

The nine year old nods. “Very hungry.”

“How about we go get some free pizza from that buffet Mario’s you like so much? And then we can come back home to watch some movies?”

Stephen immediately sits up, dropping his pajama pants in order to swiftly pull on jeans. “You had me at ‘free pizza,” he says happily, sprinting out of the room and down the hall in order to finish getting ready for the day.


	98. “I’m sorry; run that by me again.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

“I think that we should set the animals in the zoo free,” Leslie says randomly, causing Ben to glance up from his girlfriend’s crumpled version of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (that he's re-reading for an epic, thorough, in-length discussion). He furrows his eyebrows, and it’s past midnight, and they should be dead asleep by now. Leslie has three campaign events tomorrow, and he’s still trying not to panic over the fact that he punched that dick Derek at the bowling party they threw a few nights ago.

Ben bites his lower lip. “Um, I’m sorry; run that by me again.”

Leslie sits straighter, while Ben continues to slouch against the mound of pillows he doesn’t think are totally necessary, but is now having a hard time falling asleep without at night on the rare occasion he does sleep at April and Andy’s. “The animals at the zoo,” she says. “We should set them free. I mean, I love the zoo as much as the next gal, but think about it. They spend their lives in these fake habitats with people staring at them all hours of the day.”

He nods. It makes sense. He isn’t a big zoo guy himself, but he’s been to the Pawnee Zoo two or three times with Leslie, who tows him around the park and has him carry her thousands of souvenirs, but he doesn’t mind. He’ll go anywhere if it means spending time with her. However, she’s making a good point right now (one that he’s thought subconsciously for years), and he’s feeling oddly passionate it about it, which is strange considering how late it is for him.

Somehow, the conversation morphs itself into what happens when they let the animals go. Ben thinks the lions might actually eat someone, while Leslie’s more optimistic. She wants to throw each set of species an appropriately themed party and decorate the whole entire zoo before setting them free. Ben thinks that having a big celebration might be a way to make said lions bypass eating the two of them, but they might lash out at others.

“So what kind of cake for the lions?” Leslie questions. “Since that’s what you seem to be worried about the most.”

Ben shrugs, pulling the comforter over his shoulders and rolling over to wrap his beautiful girlfriend up in his arms. He yawns in her ear and feels her shiver. “Maybe, like, an antelope cake or something?” he says. “I don’t think chocolate or yellow or confetti cake will work for them. They need something… fleshier.” He hates that word and grimaces as it rolls off his tongue, but Leslie, as per her usual, takes this in stride.

“Ooh, that’s a good idea! Maybe we could b–”

But Ben cuts her off. “Honey, sleep. You’re going to be exhausted later.”

She shrugs. “I don’t need sleep, dear sir. I do-ith fine without it.”

“You actually do need sleep. Come here,” he says, gently tugging her to where her head’s on his chest.

She exhales loudly. “Okay. You’re probably right.”

And, of course, she yawns immediately after.

“Sleep tight, babydoll.”

“You sleep tight…” she mumbles against his skin. “Tell your butt I said ‘night…”

He plants tiny kisses in her gorgeous hair and lets his eyes fall closed.


	99. “Bring your pretty little butt over here.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

“Oh, wow,” Leslie sighs. “You’re still pretty out of it, aren’t you?“ 

Ben nods. "I missed you… Where did you go? You were gone for, like, a thousand centuries…” And he immediately grabs ahold of her hand, kissing the back of it sloppily. Okay, at least he’s his usual, thoughtful self. Kidney stones or not, Ben typically gets at least sort of loopy when he’s running on little sleep (it's been twenty-four hours, and he's really suffering there). And, now, he’s drugged up, courtesy of morphine, which has just destroyed his common sense and words and pretty much everything all at once.

“I went to call my mom and to use the bathroom, honey,” she says softly. “Why don’t you try to take a nap?” Because he’s totally been fighting sleep. He was admitted several hours ago at this point, but the meds have done a weird number on him that she never thought was possible. But, at either rate, she’s yawning every few seconds, and he’s yet to actually pass the stone, and she wants nothing more than to curl up in a comfy hotel bed and snuggle with her husband. 

“Pssshh… Naps are for squares. It’s all goody-goody. ’m not even tired,” he proclaims proudly. “Do you have any pudding? Pudding cups are so… mysterious. Life is so mysterious, Leslie. One minute, you don’t have a thingamabob stuck in your penis and then, the next minute, you do. Life is crazy…” he rambles. “We should start milking cows. That’s good for the environment…”

“Milking cows is good for the environment?” she questions, rubbing circles on his clammy palm. 

Honestly, it’s best humor him at this point; it’s been such a long day.

“Uh huh,” he tells her. And, for a brief moment, the room is filled with silence. “Hey, get your pretty little butt over here,” he says sweetly, patting the mattress. “You’re so pretty, Leslie…”

Leslie complies, carefully taking a seat on the bed to avoid hurting his IV. She sinks into the flat pillows and wonders if she should ask for more. Ben may not be in a whole lot of pain right now, but she bets he’ll be nice and sore tomorrow. He should rest up while he can. The instant she starts to settle down, he snuggles his head on to her shoulder, kissing her neck. “You doing okay, love?” she asks, briefly carding her fingers through his hair. 

He nods. “You’re such a good cuddler. The best…”

Okay, he definitely sounds sleepy.

“You’re a great cuddler too, Benjamin,” she whispers. “I love you.”

He snuggles a bit harder against her. “Love you too, m'beautiful Baby Moose-Smurf.”

Well, that’s a new one.

Kind of.


	100. “Are you okay?” “Why do you ask?” “You’re wearing two different shoes.“

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is also a drabble prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

"Are you okay?” Leslie questions tentatively, peeling her eyes off a sleeping Sonia in her arms to look directly at her husband. He’s carrying both Stephen and Wesley, his deep brown orbs barely more than halfway open. His jacket hangs off his left shoulder, his hair should have a caution sign labeling it, and his Batman pajama pants hang so low on his waist she’s sure they’re about to fall off.

But, really, that’s not the most concerning aspect. 

Ben nods. “Why do you ask?" 

"You’re wearing two different shoes,” she points out, gesturing to the fact that he has a Nike sneaker on his left foot and a snow boot on the other. Sonia stirs briefly, and Leslie inhales sharply, hoping and praying that she isn’t disturbing the cute, fussy, exhausted three month old. 

Her husband glances at the ground and then just kicks off both shoes. He wiggles his black socked toes before sitting down on the couch beside her, carefully reclining against the cushions and letting out a slight sigh. Stephen and Wesley don’t seem to notice their change in position, which Leslie thanks their lucky stars for. The last few days have been very chaotic, containing a painfully long drive to Minnesota with their infants to celebrate Ben’s mother’s birthday. This birthday excursion resulted in Ben and his older brother Henry getting into an argument that left the two of them silent and cold shouldered toward one another. 

Needless to say, they’re both super exhausted. But there’s been this deflated air about Ben since his and Henry’s fight. He came to bed even later than her last night, and that in itself is extremely unusual. She tried to coax him into at least lying down with her around eleven, but he was captivated by The Empire Strikes Back with Sonia sleeping on his chest. 

“Ben,” she says. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He nods once more. “I’m fine, baby,” he whispers, leaning over slightly to kiss her cheek. 

“Really? You’ve been super quiet since we got back.”

“I swear everything’s okay, m'lady,” he tells her. “How about I put these guys down and make us some lunch? Perhaps a Mac ‘n’ cheese pizza?”

Leslie smiles brightly, still weary of their sleeping triple cherries. “That sounds amazing!”


	101. “I can’t get enough of the stuff!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from the great SakuraBlossomStorm.

It’s 1:49 AM, and Ben thinks he might be on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Seriously. Honestly. For real. He loves his wife to pieces and would do absolutely anything for her, but right now? Right now, he needs sleep. Right now, he needs to be bundled up in bed with her wrapped around him. Their two year olds are snoozing the night away, and Ben’s downstairs at the kitchen island staring at Leslie like she’s some kind of monster.

What if she is? 

Because she’s been munching on the waffles he made at least an hour and a half ago now, refusing to go anywhere near their bedroom (like it's cursed or something). Sure, tomorrow’s only Saturday, but their toddlers are notorious for waking up around 5:30 and assuming that’s the correct time for the day to start (it's not). And Ben actually needs rest. Leslie can go forever and a half without it for whatever reason, but Ben’s limbs start aching, and he becomes loopier and loopier the less sleep he gets.

And he hasn’t been getting too much of it lately as it is. 

“Les,” he whines. “Let’s go to bed.”

She shakes her head. “I still have two waffles left, Benjamin!” she exclaims. Great, so apparently she’s coping with a sugar high too because of the four cans of whipped cream. Dammit. He knew he shouldn’t have left her continue to pour it into her mouth. “I can’t get enough of the stuff!”

Ben pillows his aching head on his arms as he listens to his wife happily chow down on more waffles.  



	102. “The guy at the bar keeps staring at you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from BenjisCoolTimes. It is inspired by my new AU.

It’s noisy and loud and smelly, and Ben would definitely rather be at April and Andy’s place, buried beneath his flannel comforter and trying to find a decent position to fall asleep in without jarring his shoulder too much. The idea of basically being trapped in bed once he goes down is actually a lot more appetizing and enticing than listening to Tom complain about his failing company or watching Ron pour this weird brownish alcohol down his throat relentlessly, as if the world would combust if he stopped. And, good lord, Leslie’s here and dancing in the middle of the lounge with Ann, and why the fuck did he agree to this again? 

Oh, yeah. That’s right.

He’s still in love with her, and seeing her from a distance is definitely better than not seeing her at all. He thinks. Maybe. This whole arrangement with Chris until his shoulder heals is weird, and he doesn’t know quite how to feel about it yet, so he supposes shoveling rum and Cokes into his body is the proper solution. 

Well, it’s the proper solution until Leslie and her gorgeous, curly hair approaches him, the guy with one working arm who possesses this undeniable confusion as to where he stands with her. Because he’s been a dick recently, and he knows that, but Leslie’s also been steamrolling him. They’re jerks together, as far as he’s concerned.

Maybe. Possibly. He loves her, and is calling her a jerk mean?

See.

He needs to get out of here.

But, now, she’s sitting beside him at the bar, and he’s doing all the can to maintain eye contact and not glance down at her breasts, where her shirt is unbuttoned slightly more than usual. Those boobs used to be his. She used to be his. And her being his “right hand woman” certainly isn’t helping him find his ground with her. 

“Hi, Benjamin,” she slurs. “How’s your night goin’?“ 

And then she cackles and snorts, clasping him on the back. 

No biggy. It only sends waves of agony barreling down his spine at an impossible rate. 

"Oooooh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your,” she burps, “arm.”

“It’s okay,” he tells her. 

But then she starts kneading at the flesh around his back with one hand, and he tries not to melt at the touch he’s been longing for for months. She’s so pretty and beautiful, and, fuck, he just wants to be with her. He wants to wake up beside her, wrap her up in his arms, and whisper in her ear. He wants to bake her cookies and sing along to movies and TV shows with her. He wants to travel and see the world and start a family. 

He’s tired. So tired. He doesn’t want to live in ambiguity anymore.

And, no, he doesn’t stop Leslie from rubbing his back. Because why should he?

She eventually places her head on his good shoulder, the left one, and he pretends not to notice. Because this isn’t normal, and she’s only halfway through with her whole arrangement with Chris to be practically glued to his hip for at least six weeks. Shit. Fuck fuck fuck. He wants to scrub a hand down his face or rub his forehead, but he can’t. He can’t. All he can do is relish in the fact that Leslie’s here and safe and sound, and, fuck, he wants to fuck her. 

No. He shouldn’t think things like that.

But then he notices this guy, one much taller than him. Broader than him. Better looking than him. He keeps trying to make eye contact, even though Leslie’s laying on his shoulder and staring at the wooden counter the guy is leaning against. He seems to be smiling at her, but it’s not a very friendly smile. More like an “I want to fuck you” smile, which should only be reserved for him. 

“The guy at the bar keeps staring at you,” he whispers. “Um, uh, this bar. If… I dunno… You’re interested?”

She shakes her head and curls her tiny fingers around the digits of his left hand.

“’m great here, Benjamin,” she mumbles, and he figures he’ll flag down Ann soon to give her a ride home. 

But for now?

For now, he’s going to enjoy this.


	103. “I never believed in soulmates until I met you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is also a drabble prompt from BenjisCoolTimes. It is inspired by my new AU.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Leslie breathes against his neck. 

He shakes his head furiously. “N-No. Let’s do this,” he reassures. And she’s wearing nothing but matching polka dot bra and panties, and he’s so fucking desperate to be inside of her. “Just please don’t put any weight on my chest or shoulders or stomach. And you’ll have to be on top…” he warns. “Fuck, maybe this is a bad idea.”

He glances beside him to see Leslie’s eyes bright with tears in the dim glow of his bedroom. A few stream down her cheeks, and he reaches over to wipe them away with his left thumb. He inhales sharply and feels this wave of despair flood over him, clouding his vision and senses, and shit. He wants her. He wants her so badly. Not even just physically, even though he already knows how marvelous she feels writhing beneath him, how well they fit together. 

“I miss you,” she whispers, hiccuping after. “So much… I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending I don’t have feelings for you.”

He nods. “Me either. Not being with you is killing me…”

It’s silent for a few minutes. Leslie places her head on his bare chest, and the fingers on his right hand twitch, and he almost runs them through her hair, but he grunts and stops. She took off the sling in hasty anticipation, and he told her he’d be okay as long as he didn’t move too much. And now they’re not moving at all. The moment’s stuck, and he’s so afraid to flinch, to breathe. He can’t ruin this again. 

“You know,” he starts, and Leslie pulls his comforter over her shoulders. “I thought I was going to be alone my whole life. No one wanted anything to do with me after Ice Town. It ruined my life. It ruined my outlook and perspective. I spent twelve years drifting from city to city, town to town searching for someone who would want me…” He takes a terribly shaky breath. “And then I came here to Pawnee, the greatest city in America and possible the world. Leslie, I never believed in soulmates until I met you. I want this to work. I want you in my life.”

Leslie plants a tiny kiss on his chest. “I need you in my life,” she lets out, and he feels the tears streaming, leaking out like a garden hose. “Ben… I just… I-I…”

“Shh…” he whispers. “It’s okay." 

And fuck it. He immediately wraps both arms around her, biting down on his lip hard enough to taste blood, but who cares? His stupid arm doesn’t matter. Nothing in the world matters besides her. He just wants to be with Leslie Knope. 

"Your arm…” she murmurs, but she makes no efforts to move it.

“It’s okay, Les," he tells her, kissing her hair. "It’s okay.”


	104. “Since when do you drive a motorcycle?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from BenjisCoolTimes. It is also inspired by my new AU.

There’s this weird, obnoxiously loud noise that shakes Ben from his sleep. He jolts and curses, and Leslie instinctively tightens her grip around his torso. “Babe?” he hears her grumble groggily. “’s that sound?”

But he forgets about the sound and focuses in on the fact that Leslie called him “babe.” He hasn’t heard that in months, and he smiles like a freaking idiot because of it. Leslie Knope seriously reduces him to this puddle of goop that he has no idea how do deal with. He just loves her so so much. And, yeah, they have a lot to mull through before they even think of revealing a second scandalous relationship to Chris or her campaign managers, but, if Ben’s learned anything the last few weeks, it’s that he really should shut up and let things be every now and then.

Except letting them be, at the moment, is pretty hard, considering the strange revving sound outside the house.

Fuck. It’s not even seven in the morning.

Leslie sits up, pulling on his discarded plaid button up over her bare shoulders. She throws her hair in a messy bun, cutely scrunching her nose and rubbing her exhausted eyes. “Where are you going?” he questions. “Stay here. I’ll go check it out.”

He pushes himself off the mattress with his good arm, biting his lower lip as a blow of pain ruptures through his shoulder. Because he’s due to get this dumb sling off in about a week, and he has no idea why it still even hurts. Leslie stands and helps him into his coat, zipping him inside it and tugging a beanie over his ears. She’s so nice, so sweet, so considerate, and he brushes his lips against hers as a thank you. 

“Hurry back,” she whispers. 

Ben nods and grins enormously, creaking open the door just in case Andy and April are awake. They don’t need to know Leslie’s here. He tiptoes to the living room, slides on tennis shoes over his socked feet, and steps outside. The almost winter wind slams into him forcefully, threatening to knock him over. 

Hold on.

What the actual fuck?

Andy’s sitting on this… this motorcycle that must’ve poofed from thin air because it so wasn’t sitting behind his Saturn last night. Nope. What? What the hell? He scrubs his left hand down his stubbly cheek and takes a few steps forward, enough to spy April standing beside Andy, taking pictures and smiling as bright as an obvious vampire like April can.

“Um, hey,” he says when he reaches his car. “Since when do you drive a motorcycle?”

“Dude!” Andy exclaims. “Isn’t this awesome?!”

He shakes his head. “No. Awesome isn’t the word I would use. W-Where did that thing come from?”

“We bought it, genius,” April tells him.

Ben rolls his eyes. “I get that. But why do you have it? Can you even drive it?”

Andy puts his hand over his heart and tries his best to look offended. “Are you insulting my motorcycle skills? ‘Cuz I’ve been working on them since the first GTA came out.”

“That’s a video game,” he tells him. “Andy, you can’t just ride this thing around town. You could get hurt, or, worse, you could hurt someone else.” He even gestures to his slinged up collarbone, which Andy happened to be the one to break. 

April eyes him. “It’s not our fault your shoulder’s a wimp.”

“Yeah!” Andy agrees.

Ben shakes his head, stuffing his hand into his coat pocket. “Okay. How about you guys come inside, I’ll make breakfast, and we’ll talk about this?” He tries to hide any and all annoyance in his voice because they seem to respond better to him that way.

“Chocolate chip pancakes?” Andy questions carefully.

Ben grimaces. Chocolate chip pancakes are the reason that his collarbone’s broken in the first place. “Sure.”

“You have a deal,” April tells him. Andy jumps off the bike, and they both run inside while screaming at each other. 

He doesn’t exactly know how he’ll make breakfast one handed, but he does know he wants to kiss and hold and make love to Leslie secretly before any of that takes place.


	105. "Honestly, I'm just relieved."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from fourthinobesity.

“Stevie!” Sonia shrieks. “Give them back!” 

But Stephen, who’s being just a bit of a thief today combined with his usual amount of Stephen-ness, shoves a few lights in his mouth, chewing on them thoughtfully as his sister nears a mental breakdown. They’ve been trying to decorate their very large Christmas tree for almost three hours now, and Leslie’s spent this time running interference between their almost two year old triplets while Ben makes several attempts at placing the sparkly, shiny star at the top (which causes even more stress and hassle because he can’t stand on a chair with all of their toddlers in his arms, and they want to be as actively involved as possible).

Leslie gently takes the strand of multicolored lights from Stephen’s grasp, and the toddler instantly erupts in a screaming fit. Ben gets off the chair for the twelfth time in ten minutes and cradles their son, who blubbers openly into his neck. They’re so cute and adorable in their tiny jeans and flannel shirts and festive socks, but, holy cow, they’re monsters. Last Christmas was a lot easier, considering they happened to nap the entire time they put up the tree (Leslie reserved a few ornaments a piece for each of them to hang in their own separate locations). 

But this Christmas? Nope.

They have three nearly two year olds who assert their opinions and crave undivided attention from their parents.

And, true to triplet nature, the second one problem is resolved, another one arises.

“Me fight!” Wesley shouts, and Ben yanks the boy away the second he makes contact with their tree, knocking the beast to the ground. 

“Well, fuck me…” Leslie whispers.

~

“Honestly, I’m just relieved,” Ben whispers from beside her, nipping at her neck as he attempts to wrap himself around her like the koala cuddler he is. 

She nods. “Me too. I didn’t think putting up the tree three times would take an entire day.”

While she adores the fact that it did take almost a full twenty-four hours, she can tell her husband’s less than enthused. Wesley is curled up on his chest and refuses to be put down, so it seems as though they’ll have a small companion in their bed for the rest of the night. She knows Ben wants some alone time with just her, to unwind and relax. There are smudges beneath his eyes, and he places his head on her shoulder as she rubs over his hand with her thumb.

“At least you got some great pictures of the kids for your scrapbook,” he says, yawning after.

It’s four AM, and they’ve yet to go to sleep, and she’s honestly surprised Ben isn’t on the edge of delirium. He’s still wearing jeans and his Darth Vader sweater (that she tried diligently to get him to change several times, but to no avail), and Wesley’s like his baby partner in crime, wearing his own cozy Chewbacca pajamas (she seriously has no idea where they came from either). But, no, Ben’s awake and pretty conscious as they watch A Christmas Story with the volume low while they chat the night away.

“We should make more babies,” she tells him softly.

“Don’t even joke about that,” he says. “You guys are all I need.”

Leslie kisses his hair and lays her head on top of his.


	106. "Why don't you say that to my face?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from anonymous.

Nine year olds are weird. Nine year olds are destructive. Nine year olds have a tendency to not listen to what they’re told.

But their nine year olds are only slightly all of those things. For the most part, he’d say that he and Leslie are very fortunate to have sweet, polite, good natured, well-rounded children. Sonia plays softball and volleyball, organizes every school related event ever, and loves to do anything mathematical (which Ben is particularly proud of). Stephen is an avid drawer and photographer, goes to space camp every summer, and wants to become a cop (which Ben is definitely not fond of). Wesley reads everything almost nonstop, volunteers at a local animal shelter every other weekend, and is famous for making the best calzones in the family (which Ben is ridiculously fond of). 

What he’s trying to get at is: They’re great. 

They’re amazing kids that do well in school and are actively involved in their community. All three of them try their hardest and never take “no” as an answer, a quality both Ben and Leslie have taken the time to craft since they became parents nearly a decade ago. It’s important to instill courage and drive in their babies, and they’ve glued themselves to that role since their precious triple cherries started walking and talking. 

But right now? 

They’re weird, destructive, and so not listening.

It’s a snow day for all five of them. A blizzard rampaged through cities and towns, dumping eight inches in their particular location in Washington DC. He couldn’t even get the car to start this morning because it was so cold out, so they’re spending the afternoon and evening indoors. Leslie made hot chocolate with never ending streams of whipped cream, unleashing so many board games and movies. They’d spent the morning under two massive quilts, snuggling on the couch while Stephen flicked popcorn at everyone watching the classic, cinematic masterpiece Finding Nemo. 

But, at the moment, Ben’s currently narrowly avoiding confrontation as he sips at his fourth cup of coffee. Wesley and Stephen are highly engaged in an intense match of Battle Ship. He wants to go find Sonia and Leslie, but they’re painting their nails upstairs, and he figures he should give them some space. Some girl time. Sonia’s been complaining lately about how she feels like she never gets to see Leslie because she’s working so late, so it’s good for him to step back.

Except he’s stepping back onto a landmine that’s about to explode.

Thankfully, he’s sitting next to Wesley, his significantly calmer, passive child.

“Suck on that!” Wesley shouts, sinking his brother’s last ship. 

Good lord. 

“You’re just jealous because I’ve beaten you at every other game today!” Stephen retorts. 

“Why don’t you say that to my face?!” Wesley exclaims, causing Ben to jolt.

Stephen stands up from his chair, slamming closed his Battle Ship station. “I just did!”

“Okay,” Ben says. “What is happening right now?”

“Stephen’s always a dick!” Wesley yells like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Language,” Ben warns. “And it’s just a game, Wes.”

“Yeah, Wes. It’s just a game!“ 

"You knock it off too, Stephen. I think you two need a board game break. Why don’t each of you find a different, separate activity?”

“DIBS ON THE TV! his identical sons scream.

Ben face palms himself.

Scratch everything he thought earlier.

Nine year olds are monsters.


	107. "Why are you lying?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from anonymous.

It’s miserably cold outside. 

She just wishes she could’ve spent today cuddling beneath their massive heated blanket as Ben, the guy from Minnesota that grew up shoveling driveways during blizzards (who also happens to hate winter), grumbled into her neck about how freezing it is. But that’s not what happened. To be fair, though, they do have newly turned four year old triplets who almost constantly crave undivided attention, for their parents to watch every single breath they take.

Ben’s curled into a tight ball on the couch around Wesley, who fell asleep mid-sentence not too long ago. Leslie snaps a picture when her husband’s eyes manage to droop closed, covering them both with a second blanket because she knows just the one isn’t enough to help them rest easily. Sonia and Stephen are shrieking away in the playroom down the hall, but Leslie wants nothing more than to snuggle with her husband and calm, quiet versions of her babies.

Which, by the way, is the total opposite of how Sonia and Stephen, in particular, behave.

For whatever reason, they fight. A lot. Like constantly.

They’re both headstrong and stubborn, qualities that Ben swears up and down they got from her.

Yeah, she can see it.

Ben’s passive, and so is Wesley; they’re master avoiders of anything remotely confrontational.

She leans down to kiss them both on their foreheads before heading off into the eye of the storm. Because she hears shattering in the distance, followed by a substantial increase in noise. She bites her lower lip as she enters the room.

And damn.

Holy shit.

What the fudge happened in here?

There’s snow. In the playroom. And it’s everywhere.

But none of their kids have been outside; it’s way too cold for that.

And there’s a broken picture frame on the ground. Sonia is trying to sweep it up, while Stephen is literally running in circles with his hands in the air and snow in the hood of his sweatshirt. 

“What happened in here?” Leslie questions a bit harshly.

“Stephen did it!” Sonia exclaims immediately.

“Nuh uh!” Stephen says.

“Why are you lying?” her daughter questions. “I saw you do it!”

And, great, now the four year old is trying to be in charge of the situation.

“I’m not lying!” he yells. 

Recently, they’ve been having issues with both of these two fibbing, so it comes to no surprise that, after a few lectures, they both fully understand exactly what lying is. But they’re also very good at covering up their tracks, which is pretty suspicious for not even being in kindergarten yet. Leslie blames the movies Ben’s always playing on the TV, even if he himself isn’t actively watching them. Anything like that captivates all three of their kids.

“Guys, where did the snow come from?” Leslie asks.

“Outside!” Stephen tells her proudly. “We got it all by ourselves.”

Yeah, she doesn’t even know how to address this one.

She puts her hand on her hips and jumps when she feels a slight pressure on her back.

“’s happening?” her husband questions sleepily with a still conked out Wesley in his arms. “Um, why’s there snow in here?”


	108. "Wake up, please! Please wake up!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a dialogue prompt from PawneeWafflesBen.

"Daddy!" he hears a loud voice exclaim. "Wake up, please! Please wake up!"

Ben grumbles, scrubbing a hand down his cheek. He can barely open his eyes more than halfway, cringing at the fact that their bedroom light is very much on. Stephen's blurry face enters his vision, and Ben can't help but whine as he bundles up even more. Because it's way too early, and there shouldn't be any triplet related emergencies until much later in the day; he dealt with way too many of those earlier as it is.

"I need bat'ries for dis car," Stephen tells him, holding the toy vehicle up for Ben to see. "See?"

He sits up and rubs his eyes, glancing over at Leslie, who's still completely and totally asleep. Good lord is he envious of that. It's now officially the day after Christmas, and Stephen climbed out of his crib, and he's so tired. So so so tired. He sees sounds and can hear his brain beg for rest as he groggily pulls his son into bed with him. "We'll get batteries in the morning, 'lright?" he mumbles, still pretty out of it.

"Noooo!" Stephen shouts. "I needs 'em now, Daddy!"

And he's not exactly in the mood to deal with a cranky, newly turned two year old insomniac, so he trudges downstairs with the boy in tow, who's latched around his neck and quietly singing Jingle Bells in his ear after Ben told him that "Mommy, Wessie, and So-So are still sleeping." Which, obviously, Stephen cares about their sleeping schedule because he stopped shouting lyrics right away; he just doesn't care that much about Ben's rest.

He sets Stephen on the kitchen island, and he dangles his legs freely over the side as Ben scavages through the junk drawer for triple As. Thankfully, he finds them quickly, popping open the bottom of the toy and shoving them in there. He can't hide his grin when the car starts making way too loud of noises because Stephen lights up and giggles.

"I like this car!" he announces.

Ben has just enough energy to nod, running his fingers through his hair. Sleep. He needs sleep. He's been up for the better part of three days preparing for their massive Christmas celebration. He's cooked meals and wrapped presents and moved living room furniture a million times and ran interference between their three toddlers who found the tree to be the most fascinating thing in existence. He yawns, and that prompts Stephen to snuggle his face into Ben's chest.

"You tired, pal?" he questions softly.

The little boy nods, clinging on to Ben's long sleeved shirt before zooming the car up and down his arm with his eyes drooping closed. Stephen sticks his thumb in his mouth, a habit they're trying relentlessly to break, as he hoists him up for the millionth time tonight. He's to the point where he desperate for Leslie and a pillow and blankets, needing to be wrapped around her and cuddled against her.

"Wanna sleep your bed," the toddler slurs.

And, instead of arguing, Ben just nods. "Okay, buddy. Okay."


	109. "I love you. I've loved you since the moment I first laid eyes on you and - Oh, screw it!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another dialogue prompt from the wonderful PawneeWafflesBen.

He's asleep.

There's nothing more pure and adorable than a sleeping Benjamin Wyatt. That's why she dedicated three entire scrapbooks to the subject that is her exhausted husband. She can't help it; he's just perfect. Well, he's perfect all the time and constantly and forever cute, but watching him snooze the hours away is easily one of her favorite activities (right up there near eating waffles, holding hands, cuddling, history channel documentaries, and copious amounts of mac and cheese pizza).

That's not weird, right?

Oh well if it is. She can't help that she loves her husband to the moon and back. That she aches to be around him on an secondly basis. That she comes home from work with him during the week and just craves that one on one attention like nobody's business.

Tonight, he's flat on his stomach and snoring very loudly. His levels of snoring and the intensity of that action depend entirely on how much sleep he got the night before, which then depends on how much sleep he got the night before that. It's a delicate system that's been broken the last several days, where they've been too busy moving into their new house in Washington D.C. with their four year old triplets in tow to worry about their sleeping schedule.

His first day as an official Congressman is tomorrow, and he's been out like a light since eight o'clock. He missed putting the kids to bed, but the poor guy was dead on his feet and slurring every other word and barely able to hold his head up anymore. Ben laid down so early, and all Leslie wants to do is spoon up behind him and run her fingers through his hair.

Which is exactly what she does.

Her husband groans, shifting to where he's on his side. "You 'kay?" he whispers.

She nods, carding her digits through the messy fluffiness that is his hair. "I just missed you."

"Missed you..." he grates out lowly.

And he should know better than to sleepy talk to her.

Because, suddenly, she's rolling him over, and he looks at her like she's lost her mind. "I love you," she tells him. "I've loved you since the moment I first laid eyes on you and - Oh, screw it!" And then her tongue is in his mouth as she presses their lips together. And Ben grips her hair and breathes out against her, and she can't believe she married this man. This wonderful man who picks up their kids from school and immediately plays in the backyard with them until the still summer sun goes down. This wonderful man who makes her waffles whenever she wants. This wonderful man who helps her and reassures her and loves her unconditionally.

"Love at first sight?" he questions with a chuckle. "You hated me for at least a month."

"More like six-ish weeks. But you grew on me," she tells him, grinning.

Ben smiles back. "I love you too, Les."


	110. "I'll sleep under the sheets; you sleep on top of them."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a dialogue prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

“What are you doing out here?” a voice questions.

Ben instantly jolts and jumps from his spot on a somewhat otherwise unoccupied decrepit couch, his heart hammering in his chest as he gulps. This is it. This is how he dies. In this creepy, weird ass bed and breakfast in the middle of fucking nowhere with this strange lady and her twelve million cats roaming around freely. But then the lights flicker on, and he sees Leslie standing there with a quilt draped over her shoulders, staring curiously at him. 

"I thought you were bunking with Tom?"

She looks amazing. And Ben wants to do very naughty things with her. But he also has this unexplained urge to kiss her and cuddle her and hold her hand. To grow old with her and eat hamburgers on a bench in the middle of City Hall until they both cease to exist. But he can’t do any of those things, and, let’s be honest, Leslie probably isn’t interested in him in the first place. Yeah. Maybe she just doesn’t like him at all. Not that he can blame her for that, either. 

"Um," he says, and he feels sweat trickle down the side of his face. "He, uh... He made me sleep on the floor, which was really uncomfortable, so I c-came out here."

Smooth. Real smooth, Wyatt.

And then Leslie approaches him, holding out her hand. “Come on,” she instructs, and he dumbly stands up, lacing their fingers together without putting much thought into it. Shit. Wait. What? Why? Abort. He shouldn’t have done this. But Leslie seems oddly unphased, and he doesn’t have the heart, the strength to move. “You can sleep in my room tonight.” 

She guides him down the hall, and he follows freely, as if this isn’t even remotely unconventional. It’s illogical. It doesn’t make sense for a woman like her to see anything in a man like him. But here she is, holding his hand and taking him into yet another foreign location in this unfamiliar house of terror. The bed’s already unmade, and she’s in a sweatshirt and jeans, and he desperately wants to push her up against a wall and kiss the crap out of her. 

"You don't have to do this, Leslie. I was fine on the couch," he tells her, but she gently pushes him on to the mattress anyway. He tries not to panic, tries to calm his nerves and tell them to stay calm, but they’re eating him alive. They’re swallowing him whole, and he’s... Why does he feel some many things for Leslie Knope? 

"Relax, Ben. We're just sleeping. Look, I'll sleep under the sheets; you sleep on top of them."

He finds himself nodding even though he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be in here. With her. But he hangs on her every word, wants to be buried along with those words beneath her skin. Wants to soak in each syllable until there’s nothing left, until he knows it all. So he lies down, taking up as little of the surface as possible. He doesn’t even get under the covers. 

"You'll freeze to death like that," she says knowingly.

In fact, he's already shivering, but he's not entirely sure it's just from the frigidness of the room. "I..."

"Ben," she coaxes, reaching over to pull the comforter up to his chest. "It's fine."

He bites his bottom lip hard enough to taste blood. "Are you sure?"

She entangles their fingers together once more. "I'm very sure. Just relax, and let yourself fall asleep."

Ben doesn't actually wind up getting any sleep, but it's more than worth it with Leslie by his side, even if it is only for one night.


	111. "I've never felt this way about anyone before... and it scares the crap out of me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a dialogue prompt from the amazing BenjisCoolTimes. It is based around my "Right Hand Woman" AU that should be posted some time soon.

This is from my “Right Hand Woman” AU that will be posted some time soon! 

Ben’s never been overly fond of people since he met Leslie. 

He’s been let down by people he trusted one too many times in his life, and he just doesn’t allow himself to go there. To feel those emotions weighing heavily on his shoulders. To let the gravity of whatever situation pull him under because there’s no use. There’s no use in trying. But then he met Leslie, and they were together, and now they’re not. And he has no idea why he needs, actually needs, to be around another person because he’s never needed it before.

Really, though, he hasn’t needed it since he was a little kid, striving to gain the attention of his asshole of a father.

But, now, he’s lost, and his collarbone’s snapped in half, and he finds himself drowning. Drowning because she’s sitting literally right next to him at his desk, filling in numbers on spreadsheets like they’re her own. But they’re not. They’re his. And these are his feelings to toy with, to wrap around him. Not hers. Because he’s given her everything of his in the past, but now he can’t. Now, he wants to get rid of her and anything she’s made him feel.

Chris won’t allow that, though. 

He’s hell-bent on the idea of Ben having a “right hand woman” to aid him in anything job-related, even though he’s pretty sure he could handle it alone. It’s harsh, but he doesn’t even want to look in Leslie’s direction right now, much less actually speak to her or potentially tell her what to do. So, he sighs and runs the fingers of his left hand through his dampened hair, grumbling in irritation because every movement somehow jars his injured shoulder.

“You okay?” she asks quietly.

And she totally doesn’t start kneading at the flesh around his lower back.

Nope.

She doesn’t do that at all, even though she knows that’s the spot that knots up when he’s stressed or anxious or exhausted.

Ben nods. “Yeah,” he gets out. “Thanks.”

“Do you have anything else you need to get done today?” she asks. “It’s almost four.”

He shakes his head. “No. I’m good.”

“Then what are you gonna do this last hour?”

He shrugs. “Probably go home.”

“Ben,” she says, and he immediately recognizes her tone. “Are you ever going to stop ignoring me?”

And he chokes on his own spit, causing an eruption of coughs. “Um... W-What do you mean?”

She uncaps a bottle of water and passes it to him; he chugs it greedily. “You know, I've never felt this way about anyone before... and it scares the crap out of me."

And no. No. He doesn’t understand where this is coming from. They ended things. This shouldn’t be happening. This isn’t a thing. Because Leslie isn’t professing that she still has feelings for him, and he doesn’t instantly want to abandon ship, to run back into her welcome arms and kiss her passionately. He doesn’t want any of that to happen.

Ben licks his lips and rubs his neck, and Leslie’s hand is still gently massaging his back. “I want you in my life, Ben,” she tells him. “So badly.”

And he finds himself crumbling. His walls shatter, and he stops. Just stops. Because he’s been trying to hold on to something for so long, some shred of hope that things will go back to normal, and now it’s almost as if they are. Plus, he’s never been able to avoid her; he’s naturally drawn to her gorgeous smile, beautifully curly hair, and brightly positive attitude. He never stood a chance in the first place. “I want you in my life too,” he whispers.

“So let’s... leave this in the past, okay?” 

“What about Chris?”

“Who cares?” she says. “I don’t care anymore. I miss you.”

He shakes his head, tapping his foot up and down on the carpeted floor restlessly. “N-No. Leslie, we’ll lose our jobs.”

“So we’ll keep it a secret.”

“You’ll lose your City Council campaign,” he counters.

“We’ll keep it a secret,” she repeats.

He scrubs a hand down the side of his face, and Leslie reaches out to brush his hair from his forehead. 

“I love you,” he tells her, tears swelling in his eyes and threatening to spill over.

And Leslie smiles; he missed that smile, the smile reserved specifically for him, so much. “I love you too.”


	112. “It’s not heavy; I’m stronger than I look.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a 100 ways to say "I love you" prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm. It is a drabble based around my story “Wherever the Tide Takes Us.”

“Please be careful,” Leslie tells him from her spot on the porch. 

He grins over his shoulder, wiping his cheeks as vicious globs of snow pelt him in the face. Sure, it’s pretty close to what Ben would consider to be a blizzard, but it’s February, and what else is he supposed to expect? “I’m fine, babe,” he tells her, speaking louder over the brisk winter wind. “Why don’t you go inside and warm up?”

She shakes her head, and he chuckles at the oversized purple bobble hat. 

Ben grabs two more cardboard boxes from the huge U-Haul he probably shouldn’t have rented for the miniscule amount of belongings he actually has. It’s funny how his entire life can be reduced to totes and boxes and a few pieces of ancient furniture. But that doesn’t matter anymore, so his goal is to not worry about it. Because Fish comes home tomorrow, and Leslie’s almost fully recovered from her Christmas Eve emergency C-section, and he’s finally officially moving into her place.

These boxes just have clothes in them, so he has plenty of wiggle room to smooch Leslie’s lips on his way in. She follows him, and, the second he sets them on the ground, his beautiful girlfriend envelops him in a massive hug, and he plants tiny kisses in her hair. 

“You okay?” he whispers.

She nods. “I’m just nervous. What… What if we’re horrible parents? I mean, I know we’ve had six weeks to prepare, and we spend everyday with Fish anyway, but what if we’re not cut out for this?”

“You,” he says, leaning down a bit to kiss her forehead (because he’s noticed that kisses always seem to calm her down and make her feel a bit better). “Are the best mother in the galaxy. It’s going to be a challenge at first, but I love you and Fish, and we’re a great team; I’ll be right here beside you the entire time.”

She smiles, wrapping him up in her arms again. It’s silent for a few moments before she speaks again. “Do you have to keep bringing stuff in?”

He nods. “Unfortunately. I wish I would’ve done it on a day where it isn’t snowing like this.”

“I can help,” she says.

But he immediately protests that. “I’m okay, love. There’s not that much left.“ 

The last thing Ben wants is for her to fall and hurt herself. Or drop something on her precious fingers or toes. Or ruin the progress she’s made with her recovery. She hasn’t even seen the inside of the U-Haul for those reasons because he won’t let her go past the front porch. It’s been a chaotic day, and he knows she’s on edge, so he’s definitely not going to let her risk it.

He heads back outside, pulling the hood of his coat over his head, which just gets knocked off a millisecond later anyway. He takes off his gloves to manhandle this bookcase that he’s had in his family for decades and is surprisingly actually quite fond of. Ben slowly gets the case into the elements, grunting in the process. Snow whacks him in the face, and he can’t see anything really, and maybe he should’ve waited.

"Do you need help?” Leslie shouts. 

Why is she outside again? She’ll get sick in this weather.

But that’s a dumb question because obviously the answer is that she’s Leslie Knope.

“It’s not that heavy!” he tells her. But he sees what he thinks are her eyes staring right at him. “I’m stronger than I look!”

He does pretty well with it up until he reaches the front steps to Leslie’s house. They’re slick even with salt on them and even though he’s shoveled it and the driveway a million times today alone. So, of course, the bookcase slides out of his hands on the third step, and he loses his footing. He falls backwards, his heart pumping relentlessly in his chest. And, also of course, the case falls on top of him with a loud thud.

“Ben!” he hears Leslie shriek.


	113. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a 100 ways to say "I love you" prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm. It is direction continuation of the previous chapter.

“Ben!” he hears Leslie shriek.

“I’m okay,” he mumbles. Because he doesn’t want her to freak out. She’s been so stressed lately about Fish and her job and feeling like she’s lazy; she needs to relax. But it’s kind of hard to tell her that with a bookcase on top of him. He pushes it off before she even has the chance to touch it, happy that it clambers into a pile of snow instead of just slamming on the concrete. Ben stretches and pops his back.

Leslie’s hand is on his shoulder in a split second. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt? Did you hit your head?”

“I’m fine, Les,” he tells her sincerely.

Well, at least he thinks it’s sincere. There’s a bit of pain building in his right elbow, and his back does kind of ache. 

“You’re bleeding!” she squeals and ushers him inside so fast it makes his head spin.

Wait. He’s pretty sure his head’s not supposed to spin.

“I swear I’m alright,” he tells her again. 

She shakes her head, pulling out an old towel, wetting it, and trying to make herself taller so she can reach a wound on his forehead. Forehead. Okay. That’s not bad. Not bad at all. “I’ll drive you to the hospital,” she says, grabbing her purse from the kitchen table.

“What? No. I don’t need to go to the hospital, babe!”

“Uh uh, Wyatt. None of that crap today. We’re going.”

~

The only good thing about the hospital is getting to see Fish.

Julian.

Will they ever stop calling him “Fish?”

Probably not. But maybe when he’s getting ready for pre-school they should let him know that his name is Julian Knope-Wyatt. Just in case.

But Leslie’s very adamant about him seeing a doctor, so Ben gives up an hour and a half of time he could be spending with his new, tiny family to sit in a waiting room. He tells her she could go visit Fish while he’s down here, but she refuses, claiming she’ll be by his side forever. He smiles and kisses her, and she lays her head on his shoulder as he bounces his heel up and down on the tiled floor.

Eventually, his name is called, and Dr. Harris examines him. He gets five stitches on his forehead, and his elbow is wrapped snuggly in an ace bandage. And, by the time the hustle and bustle is over, and Leslie knows that he’s actually okay and not concussed, both of them just want to see Fish. They saw him around eight this morning, but it’s almost four, and Ben desperately wants to hold his son.

They’re regulars in the NICU. Either Haley or Ruth always welcomes them brightly as if they don’t see them at least twice a day for multiple hours at a time, giving them all the information on their baby. Often times, they’ll take pictures and record videos, and Ben will never stop being in awe of this place. Because the nurses and doctors are amazing, and he’s met many other great parents that will say the same thing. 

But no one wants their child in here. 

It’s been a hellish six weeks, but it’s exactly what Fish needed in order to feed and breathe on his own and gain weight. And tomorrow he goes home; he passed his car seat test yesterday, and Ben honestly can’t be happier or more thrilled. He’ll finally be able to hold his family altogether on the couch, snuggling and watching movies and kissing Fish every three seconds. 

Leslie rubs his bruised back as they sit down next to Fish’s crib. Haley hands her the baby, and Ben pouts, for real pouts, when his lovely girlfriend tells him to keep weight off his elbow for now.

But their six week old son looks directly at him and smiles, and Ben’s heart melts.


	114. “There’s enough room for both of us.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a 100 ways to say "I love you" prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm. Canon with the show.

“I think they’re all down,” Leslie announces, entering the bedroom and lying down beside her half asleep husband.

And, for the first time in many many hours, she gets a slight, crooked grin out of him. Because it’s January and flu season, and their two year old babies each have the typical variety of snotty noses and barking coughs and queasy stomachs. Sonia woke up around two AM vomiting, and Ben tended to her while Leslie busied herself wiping Wesley’s overheated face with a cool cloth until Stephen started whimpering in his sleep.

And it’s been like that for the entirety of the day. 

It doesn’t really help that both of them also have this dreaded, horrible virus, but their tiny monsters have medicine in their systems and only needed half a story before the three of them were completely conked out in their cribs. And she’s smiling like an idiot right now to even have the chance at some alone time with Ben because it’s been way too long. She hasn’t even gotten to touch his butt today! And, trust her, that’s a must for each and everyday, sick or not.

So she beams brightly when he envelops her in his arms. He’s warm and toasty against her chills, and she finally gets her chance to wrap around him and grab his perfectly flat ass. 

“Am I just a piece of meat to you?” he questions with a hoarse chuckle.

She nods, burying her face in his neck. “Always.”

He coughs wetly before unraveling himself from her just enough to click off his bedside lamp, and she tries not to pout at the twinges of agony rippling through her. “Shh…” he tells her. “I’ve got you.” She snuggles harder, wanting nothing more than to be healthy and bone the daylight out of him. But he’s so comfortable right now that she can’t imagine moving, can’t imagine leaving his gentle embrace.

Leslie’s well on her way to dreamland when there’s an eruption of broken cries followed by whooping, volcanic coughs from down the hall. Their old baby monitor’s on because they’re all sick, but she would’ve heard that no matter what. And apparently Ben hears it too because he’s on his feet in less than a second.

“I can –” she tries, but Ben stops her.

"No, stay there,” he says, leaning down to kiss her forehead. 

She listens as three distinct rounds of sobbing join in a terrible chorus, tears swelling in her eyes. Their kids are way way way too young to ever feel like this, and she wants, needs, to get up and help Ben, but her feet hurt, and her chest aches every time she breathes, and she’s pretty sure she would just fall over if she even tried to get out of bed. But, true to her nature, she starts to maneuver herself out of the thousands of blankets.

Okay, seriously, why the fuck do they have so many blankets?

She’s wrestling a green and black polka dotted one when Ben comes back into the room, their three monsters in his arms. Leslie scoots over so everyone can have a spot, and Stephen instantly burrows his face into her stomach. She rubs his back as Sonia and Wesley hunker down on the mattress. Ben covers them and kisses their foreheads, rubbing his droopy eyes.

“Where are you going?” she asks when he starts to turn around.

He shrugs, stopping to face her. “Downstairs. You guys can have the bed.”

“What? Why? There’s enough room for both of us.” And she swears she sees him sway sort of dizzily on his feet, even though he’s standing still. “Lay down, Ben.”

He doesn’t put up a fight. Instead, he sandwiches their tiny babies in between them, extending his arm out just enough to where he can softly, slowly massage her hip. Leslie tries not to melt at the touch. Because he’s so sweet and kind and doesn’t want to inconvenience her or their triple cherries’ sleep with the bed being more than slightly overcrowded. 

“Love you,” he whispers.

She rubs her thumb over his hand. “Love you too.”


	115. “I bought you an umbrella.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another 100 ways to say "I love you" prompt from the lovely SakuraBlossomStorm.

She hasn’t spoken, actually spoken, to Ben in almost two entire days, so she immediately lights up the second her phone rings. Sure, they’ve texted here and there, but her crazily hot boyfriend is a big shot in Washington D.C. running a campaign, and she’s still in Pawnee, and she desperately, urgently misses him. Waking up without him by her side is never where she imagined herself, but he comes home in a couple weeks, so she guesses she’ll survive.

A big emphasis on “guesses” because, in reality, she might cease to exist.

Because Ben’s the love of her life, and not having him around is more awful than she ever anticipated anything ever being. Sometimes, it’s so bad that her focus on work is little to nothing, which is very alarming. Sometimes, it’s so bad that she cries into his pillow and eagerly waits for him to call her, even though she knows it’s usually past midnight when he gets to his swanky apartment. Sometimes, it’s so bad that she ignores her starfish Ann Meredith Perkins for hours at a time.

Leslie looks past it at the moment, though, since Ben’s Skyping her.

“Hey!” she says. “I miss you!”

“I miss you too,” he tells her.

And he looks a million shades of absolutely gorgeous with crazy hair and that stupid crooked smirk. His hair. She misses that hair so much. It’s forever everywhere and refuses to be tamed. She misses tugging on it. She misses running her fingers through it when he’s sleepy. She misses attempting to smooth it into place. Really, though, she misses anything and everything about him, including his sometimes very awful snoring. She finds that, most nights, she can’t even attempt to fall asleep without buzzing in her ear as Ben winds himself around her.

“How’s it going there?” she questions.

Ben shrugs. “It’s alright. It’s been raining here for five or six days straight, which kinda sucks because I walk to work.”

“Don’t you have an umbrella?” 

He shakes his head, waving her off. “Pshh, umbrellas are for squares.”

“You’re a dork,” she says, smiling and laughing as they talk for another two and a half hours.

~

It’s three days later when she gets to see him for the first time in almost a month.

And, yes, it’s still pouring in D.C. when her cab pulls up to his apartment complex. 

She’s a little afraid he isn’t off work yet, but she heads up to the third floor anyway. She has a key, so it’s not a big deal if she has to wait for him. But she really hopes he’s here because she’s positive she’s going to explode if she doesn’t get to see him right away. Leslie never thought she’d be the type of woman to depend on someone else for support, love, and comfort, but she found her match in Ben, and now all she ever wants to do is see him, touch him, and talk to him.

“BEN!” she screeches as she spies him in the lobby; she’d know that perfect butt anywhere. 

He turns around, and she flies into his arms, not caring in the slightest that he’s soaking wet from yet another walk home in the rain.

“I love you,” he breathes against her skin. “So much.”

She smiles. “I love you too,” she says. “And, just so you know, I bought you an umbrella.”


	116. "Sweet dreams."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another 100 ways to say "I love you" prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

She’s hunched over the kitchen table, working diligently with cute, soft fingers typing on his laptop as he checks on the pizza baking in the oven. Her nose permanently scrunched, she hasn’t looked up in an hour. She’s so adorable in her Garfield t-shirt and floral print pajama pants and her hair up in a messy bun, and Ben just wants to cuddle and kiss her until the very end of time. Because his wife’s a superhero of a woman, and she deserves the moon, sun, and the stars.

And basically the entire galaxy because she’s gorgeous, and he loves her deeply. 

It’s been a long, stressful day filled to the brim with paperwork, phone calls, wrangling their now mostly walking eleven month old triplets, and saving Andy from drowning in the Pawnee Reservoir (he saw a bluish duck and decided he really wanted to have it). And, naturally, his wife’s exhausted. Purple bags accent her tired, beautiful blue eyes as she yawns every few seconds. But Leslie keeps plucking away because that’s who she is, what she always does.

Their precious triple cherries are at Marlene’s for the night, and Ben had plans to make out and do very naughty things with his wife, but not anymore. Now, the game plan is entirely different, consisting of finishing this mac and cheese pizza, snuggling up in their big bed, putting on a movie, and allowing Leslie to get some much needed rest and relaxation. She’s famous for doing eight days worth of work in one, and a few hours off will do wonders for her.

He pulls the pizza out of the oven, and he smiles when he hears her giggle.

“What?” he asks with a smile.

She grins back at him. “Nice boxers.”

He glances down at the pink and yellow sticking out from his jeans where his long sleeved shirt doesn’t cover it. SpongeBob and Patrick. Leslie got them as a sort of gag gift for his birthday a few days ago, but he knows she loves them on him. “Hey, you bought them,” he tells her. “I’ll cut the pizza in a few minutes. Why don’t you go upstairs? I’ll bring everything to you.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

His eyebrows furrow. “We’re eating in bed and watching a movie tonight. Remember?”

She shakes her head. “I have a lot of work to do, babe.”

“Leslie, we already talked about this. You need to relax. It’s just for a few hours.”

“Yeah, right,” she says. “Laying with you just makes me sleepy and horny because you’re adorable and sexy.”

“Maybe that’s because you actually need some sleep.”

She smiles. “I think I need the horniness more,” she tells him.

Trust him, he’d love to be buried inside her until the sun comes up, but she literally won’t get any sleep that way. She works so hard all the time, and he wants her to finally realize that she isn’t invincible. She just got over a horrendous, wicked cold a few days ago, one that she picked up after her six sleepless nights in a row, where she was focused on a brand new park proposal for northern Indiana. Leslie needs this. She needs tonight, especially since the kids are gone, and it’s their opportunity to rest in their bed for at least eight straight hours without any interruptions. 

He eyes her. “Please, Les. I don’t want you getting sick again.”

“Fine,” she says as she closes the laptop. “But you owe me, Wyatt.”

He rounds the kitchen island to kiss her gently. “Okay, love.” 

She heads upstairs while he cuts the pizza, placing all eight slices on a single, oversized plate so she can eat as much as she wants without either of them having to get back up. He knows that, as soon as he starts to move around, she will too, so he has to stay put as well. And, thankfully, she’s actually sitting on the mattress when he gets into their room. She’s pouty and tired, but he’s just hoping this will make it a bit better. He puts in Finding Nemo as she munches quietly.

Leslie makes it through two slices and a can of Sunkist before she burrows beneath the comforter, laying her head on his chest. He cards his fingers through his hair and peppers tiny kisses on her scalp as Nemo touches the butt. Normally, this part riles her up and causes an outpour of emotion, but Leslie stays still and calm, and he just loves her so so much.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers as soft snores fill the room.


	117. "Stay there. I'm coming to get you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a 100 ways to say "I love you" prompt from the amazing BenjisCoolTimes.

He hasn’t seen this much snow since that Minnesota blizzard apocalypse type thing in 1986. 

Ben was eleven and missed school for an entire nine days because the roads were caked with snow and ice. He remembers epic sledding adventures and constant snowballs fights with his older brother Henry. The white fluffiness was so hard, so dense that Henry actually ended up shattering one of their neighbor’s windows. Of course, his brother blamed it on Ben, who had to pay to replace it. Still, though, those are (mostly) good memories.

He doubts this, however, will be a good memory.

Because it’s almost four, and Leslie’s still at work, and he needs to see her. Needs her to be here, safe and sound and wrapped in his arms in their own house. Why the hell did today have to be his day off? He should be there with her right now, not here. He rubs his forehead as he watches snow pile up on their deck. Shit. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all. He heads to the front door, cracking it open slightly and shivering at the freezing blast of air that slams into his face. There are already at least a few inches on the ground, and this only started a couple hours ago. 

He’s about ready to call City Hall when his cell phone buzzes.

“Leslie,” he says frantically. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. But this storm’s really bad, and I don’t think it’s safe for me to drive in it. I’ll probably just spend the night here.”

His eyebrows furrow. “What? No. Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

“That’s too dangerous, babe,” she tells him. 

He shakes his head even though she can’t see him. “It’s nothing I haven’t driven in before. It might be a bit before I get there though.”

“Okay. Please be careful.”

~

It takes over three hours to get to her. He ends up swerving off the chaotic road at least a dozen times, and, apparently, he was very wrong about the condition of the roads. Luckily, he has an overnight bag in the trunk for emergencies. It’s loaded with clothes and spare bathroom supplies for both him and his lovely wife, and he’s thanking his mom internally for enforcing that safety rule upon him when he turned sixteen and got his driver’s license.

By the time he enters City Hall, his nerves are shot, and he’s trembling hard from the cold seeping into his clothes. There are employees literally everywhere; it doesn’t look like anyone was able to go home, which makes Ben feel like he’s out of his damn mind since he drove here with those hazards. He must be crazy. But, no, he’s just crazily in love with Leslie Knope, and he wants to know she’s safe, even if it means putting himself in direct, immediate danger.

The instant she spies him when he enters the Parks Department, she leaps into his arms. 

“I’m so happy you’re here!” she exclaims. “But are you alright? What about the car?”

“Everything’s a-okay coolio beans,” he tells her, and she rubs his back furiously to help him warm up and stop shivering so much.

She softly, gently kisses his lips. “I love you, Benjamin.”

He smiles. “I love you too, Lesliemin.”


	118. "I need a place to stay."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from pawneewafflesben.

He’s just burrowing beneath his blue comforter when the doorbell rings.

April and Andy are in Indianapolis for the weekend. They’d left him with an unreasonably long list of chores and demands, but he’s not that interested in playing games with the two of them. But they are usually the ones who answer the door since it’s normally their loud, annoying, rowdy friends who come over, help themselves to Ben’s yogurt and cans of Coke, and generally destroy the house before everyone passes out in corners of the room with Cheeto dust on their fingertips.

Ben grumbles and shuffles out of bed, cursing to himself when he steps on… Legos. Great. More Legos. 

It’s like Leslie’s house all over again.

The house where he learned that he should really leave his shoes on until he made it upstairs to her bedroom. The house that’s filled to the brim with newspapers and birdhouses and random Christmas knick-knacks. The house where he spent almost every evening, night, and morning at for the glorious parts of their secret relationship. 

But he shoves those images aside. 

That is, until he gets a good look at who’s at the front door.

Leslie.

As cliché as it is, his heart actually skips a few beats. He’s been trying. Trying so hard to forget about her, to shield himself from reminders and images of her. Trying so hard to carry on with his life, even though Pawnee is practically pointless without Leslie by his side. Everything’s pointless, honestly. And he’s not too sure he’ll ever be able to come back from this because he spirals every time he even glances in her direction. 

She’s so beautiful. Tonight’s no exception.

“Hi,” he breathes out, crossing his arms over his chest as he stands in the doorway. But then he moves and invites her in because she’s shivering. It’s cold out. He kind of forgot because it’s always freezing in this stupid place. It doesn’t help that April spilled chocolate milk literally all over his plaid heated blanket a few nights ago (while he was actively using it). He’d wrap it around her tiny shoulders and help keep her warm in a heartbeat.

“I need a place to stay,” she tells him. “My house is being fumigated because Lucy and Timmy won’t come out of the fireplace.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Lucy and Timmy?” 

She looks at him like he’s an idiot and as if what she’s saying is the most obvious thing in the world. “The raccoons.”

He immediately looks at the ground.

“Oh…” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well… W-What about Ann?”

Idiot. He’s such an idiot. Why would he ask that? He doubts she would come here until she’s exhausted all of her other options. 

“She’s in Michigan for the weekend, and Ron’s apparently at his runaway cabin, and Tom’s definitely a no go,” she explains. “It’s okay if you say no. I figured I’d try here before a motel.”

He immediately shakes his head at that. Nope. No way. She isn’t staying at a motel. Sure, it’d be much less awkward with April and Andy here to spice things up with their overflowing chaos and constant questions, but that isn’t the case, and he supposes it’s okay. Yeah. It’s fine. It’s… fine. “You can stay here,” he tells her as he runs a hand through his hair.

But there’s a part of him that regrets letting her in. They aren’t together. Haven’t been in what seems like actual centuries. Because he totally doesn’t have feelings for her anymore. Ha. He wishes he could even compute that sentence. Wishes he could picture the freeness of that realization course through his veins, to swallow him whole and spit him back out as a normal, not very deeply in love with Leslie Knope type of man. 

“Where are April and Andy?”

“Indianapolis for the weekend.”

She chuckles. “I take it that’s why you’re in your pajamas at seven in the evening?”

Ben stuffs his hands in the pockets of his plaid pajama pants. “Guess so.”

Not to mention that he hasn’t actually slept in almost six days. He’s at the point where blinking hurts, and he’s falling asleep for brief spurts while driving, and he’s wondering just how small they can make a t-shirt. 

“Ben, if this going to be weird for you, I’ll stay somewhere else.”

“No!” he says a bit too quickly. “I mean, I swear it’s fine, Les.“ 

The shortened version of her name stings rolling off his tongue.

“I’ll set up shop on the couch. You can go lay back down. I’ll be quiet.”

He shakes his head. “You can have my room.”

“No, that’s your room, Ben. The couch is fine.”

But Ben takes it upon himself to move her overstuffed polka dot duffle bag toward his bedroom. “There’s a desk in here,” he says. “That way you can scrapbook or finish up whatever binder series you’re working on now.” He tries to hide his shaking fingers as he settles it on his bed. 

“You look so tired. Why don’t you lie down in here and get some rest?”

He rubs the back of his neck again, yawning at the worst moment possible. “Face it; you’re stuck, Knope.”

She grins and blushes, and he pats the doorway awkwardly before heading into the living room. 

Ben flops on the couch, trying to ignore the trembles he often gets when he stands in her presence for too long. When they were together, he got used to these constant butterflies that seemed to ignite if someone, anyone, said her name. And he’d grin stupidly every time she herself would look at him. He clicks on the TV and smushes his head to a pillow that smells mysteriously, faintly like… meatloaf? And he tries to ignore her. 

A while later, he’s mostly asleep, and he definitely doesn’t notice Leslie come into the room, who covers him with a soft blanket before smoothing his hair back.


	119. "You're a nerd."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from the wonderful pawneewafflesben.

Son of a cracker.

Seriously?

She fell asleep. Again.

Who cares if she’s five and a half months pregnant with triplets? That should not play a factor in this equation whatsoever. Damn Ben. Dammit. Dammit! All she wanted to do was settle down in bed with her binders and scrapbooks, but then her stupid husband came in and laid beside her, kissing her expanded, bloated belly four times before promptly falling straight to sleep. And then the snoring started, and then she yawned a million times in a row, and here she is.

But Ben’s gone, and she’s covered up with his idiotic, new, plushy Star Wars blanket that she bought him a few days ago (one of four, actually; as if they actually need anymore blankets). Leslie rolls her eyes and grumbles, pushing herself up with her hands. Their babies, their three babies, kick happily inside her, excited by the movements. Usually, her moving means it’s time to eat, and they’re already very used to this waffle intake schedule.

She waddles to the bathroom for a brief, expected pit stop. These kids stomp on her bladder at least ten times a day without fail. She thinks the one causing all these issues is Stephen, one of the two boys currently residing in her uterus. Sonia, their only girl, is taming the crew, while Wesley, their shy guy, hides out in the background. They have such distinct personalities, and she loves getting to know them, even though they’re still inside her. 

Leslie pulls up her yoga pants, washes her hands, and narrows in on finding Ben and destroying him.

Okay. Wait. Whoa.

Not destroying him.

Just smacking him for letting her sleep for that long again.

She’s tired of feeling this hormonal constantly, and February’s never seemed so far away. She’s already obsessed with Galentine’s Day enough as it is, but the idea of the babies being born on that day for real keeps her going. But her husband’s a scrooge and firmly believes the babies will be born some time in January. Damn him. How can he be so elfish and impregnate her with three children at once with his super sperm, but then tell her they won’t be born on Galentine’s Day? 

Because that’s so going to happen. 

Leslie makes her way down the hall, figuring she might find him in their home office. Possibly on the couch (but she’s not in the mood for stairs at the moment). But then she hears movement and rustling from inside the nursery, so she stops there instead.

Sorting Hat.

There’s a Sorting Hat. In the nursery. On top of the huge oak dresser that Ron built.

Tears swell in her eyes, and she clamps a hand over her mouth before letting out a strangled sob of happiness.

“Babe!” Ben says. “I thought you were still asleep.”

She shakes her head, and she shuffles over to her husband and wraps her arms around him. And is that a… scar on his forehead? “I love this!”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I was sure I had at least another hour to decorate.”

“Well, these monsters wanted me to pee and eat copious amounts of waffles, so here I am,” she tells him, tears still gleaming in her eyes. 

Ben rubs her back. “I think the Harry Potter theme is adorable,” he whispers, leaning down slightly to kiss her hair. “And I also have another surprise.” 

And, yes, folks, she pulls away a little bit just in time to see her husband pull his glasses out of his hoodie pouch.

“You’re a nerd,” she chuckles. “But I love you so much.”


	120. "I don't want you to stop."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from anonymous.

This is going to sound odd, but Leslie's the one who's used to being cranky around him. She gets worked up and angry and occasionally lets out her frustrations on her husband, but he takes it all in stride. He gives her full body massages, cooks her mac and cheese pizza, bakes her triple chocolate brownies, and let's her watch whatever she wants on TV. He lets her lay on him, and he carries her from room to room so she can unwind and relax.

But she isn't used to Ben, her elfish soulmate, being even remotely cranky. He's usually complacent, content wherever he goes. Sure, he panics every now and then, but that's pretty normal for him because he's an anxious numbers robot, and there's nothing wrong with that. But he's been unusually quiet and somber since he woke up, which has only magnified by a billion since they get off work.

"Do you want me to order some take out?" she suggests as he pulls into their driveway. It doesn't help that it's a gloomy, stormy March evening either. "We could take it easy and watch a movie?"

He shakes his head slowly. "I have a lot of work to do." He shrugs off his coat and gives it to her. "Make sure to put the hood up."

And then he gets out of the car without another word.

Leslie sighs and situates the coat around her shoulders, tugging on the hood until it covers her forehead. Great. She knows he's very exhausted from evenings and nights of working nonstop, but she figures he'd at least be a little more receptive to her ideas because it's the same formula he uses for her when she's stressed or cranky. He caters to her every whim, and then she falls asleep. It's as simple as that.

Well, unless she's super fiesty. She knows she's a monster when that happens.

She takes off her heels when she gets inside and hangs up her and Ben's coats. Part of her wishes he'd just sit down on the couch, click on the TV, and watch something, anything, that'll de-crankify him. She doesn't even care if she watches Return of the Jedi for the twelve millionth time in their relationship. Or The Crystal Skull. Or season one of Fringe.

And Fringe is currently at the very top of her "no watch" list.

Leslie finds her husband upstairs. He's changing out of his work clothes, and she resists the very strong, powerful urge to pinch his perfectly flat ass. Seriously, she gets that she might or might not be obsessed with it, but come on. That's a nice butt. A perfect butt, in fact. She frowns as he pulls on grey sweatpants, chucking his slacks and button up rather violently at the wall; they tumble into the laundry basket in a messy heap.

"Ben," she says quietly. "Why don't you lie down and take a nap?"

He shakes his head, but he doesn't offer her anything else. There are these deep, dark smudges beneath his bloodshot eyes, and she wants nothing more than to bury him in blankets and cuddle him endlessly until he's cheered up. There's no excitement or life in this version of Ben, and that just isn't going to fly.

Ben's getting ready to leave their room when she steps in front of the door, palming his chest. He sighs loudly, rubbing his forehead before yawning immediately after. He glances at her, and she tries not to get lost in his stupid brownie eyes because that won't help either of them.

"See," she says. "You need a nap."

"Leslie, please let me go."

But she winds her arms around him instead. He flinches and hardens at the unexpected touch.

"Please lay down, honey."

He shakes his head, and is he pouting?

Oh, he's totally pouting.

Ben exhales again before returning her hug very briefly and collapsing face down on the mattress. Leslie sits on the edge and lifts his white t-shirt enough to knead at the flesh on his back. Poor guy. But he does noticeably relax when she gets to a sore spot right near that delectable ass of his. So, she massages harder until he's moaning lowly and quietly.

She moves her hands in an attempt to grab him a blanket, but his whines break her concentration.

"I don't want you to stop," he says softly, hoarsely. "Um... Unless you want to?"

Leslie instantly smiles and returns to her task at hand. "I'll keep going," she reassures.

Ben let's out a groan again. "Th'nks, L'slie."

All it takes is a few more seconds before he's sprawled out and snoring loudly.


	121. "Tell me you need me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from anonymous.

"Ann, my beautiful mermaid, can you please explain to me why the hell Ben isn't back to normal yet?" she whispers into the phone, trying her best to hide from her high as a kite husband with a malfunctioning penis. "Because it's been a whole freaking day with him like this, and I'm starting to go insane. No, actually, you know what? Insane isn't even the right word. I'm losing my mind over here! Can you come over?"

Ann laughs, and Leslie scowls. "No way, Knope. You're stuck with him."

"But why is he still so loopy?"

"It can't be that bad, Les."

Her eyes immediately widen. "Can't be that bad? Can't be that bad? Oh, Ann, you naive newborn baby, it can so be 'that bad.' Do you know how many times I've had to sing the score to Jurassic Park to calm him down?"

"Um, two?"

Two?!

Just two?! That sounds like a beautiful lie.

"Thirty-nine. The whole thing too! I shouldn't be surprised he knows it so well."

She hears Ann giggle again. "You just gave him his last pain pill, right? He'll be back to normal by morning. I mean, he'll be sore and tired as hell, but he'll be your usual dose of nerves and numbers soon."

"Can't you come over for, like, twelve hours or so?" Leslie questions desperately. "That's not even that long!"

"Uh uh. Have a nice night, Les. Text me later to let me know how it goes!"

Ann hangs up, and Leslie slumps against the refrigerator. They just got back from their marathon trip to Partridge, and Ben's still relying heavily on those horrible pills to get his kidney stoned penis through the agonizingly long day. Currently, he's tucked into their bed with several blankets, a bag of Puffy Cheetos, and an entire gallon of Sunny D. He'll be an orange monster by the end of the night, but it's what he requested.

She doesn't want to leave him unattended for too long, so she reluctantly heads back upstairs. She lets out a sigh of relief when she spies Ben fast asleep against at least five fluffy pillows and snoring quietly, his left hand still inside the Cheetos bag. Yes. Finally. Yes. Now, she can unwind. But, first, she should probably move and clean his hand; he likes to sleep curled up in a ball anyway.

But, the second the gently grabs his wrist, his eyes groggily pop open. He smacks his lips and grins brightly. "Hi, honey," he slurs. "My penis doesn't hurt anymore."

Good lord.

Leslie could seriously start crying. She misses her Ben so much. This one is cute and all, but he's squirmy and super talkative and demands her attention twenty-four seven. This sounds horrible, but she'd rather Ben have the flu or a cold, something to knock him down a few pegs because this? This is madness. At least when he's feverish he actually sleeps.

"That's good, babe," she tells him, grabbing the wet cloth she settled on his forehead when they first got here because he was complaining on a head-butt-penis ache, whatever that is. She wipes off his fingertips, and Ben rolls into a ball. Leslie pulls the blankets up to his chin and lies down next to him, gently rubbing his side.

He yawns into her hair. "D'you still love me?"

"Of course. Why would you ask that?"

"Snuggle monster told me you didn't want me anymore."

"Well, that snuggle monster must've been on crack because that couldn't be further from the truth," she tells him, softly kissing his neck.

He shakes his head. "Tell me you need me," he says, and she swears to whoever is up there that he sounds almost like her Ben again. "Tell me you'll need me forever."

She kisses whatever is closest. "Ben, I'll need you until the end of time, okay? Never doubt that."

He shivers, and she tugs him closer. "Okay," he whispers. "I love you, beautiful snuggerdoodle."

"I love you too, Baby Smurf."


	122. "I'm not wearing a dress."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

"Nope," Leslie says out of nowhere, barging into their bedroom like the whirlwind of beauty and spirit and emotion she is. "I'm not going to this gala thing tomorrow. Nope nope nope."

Ben glances up from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. To be honest, he's roughly sixty percent asleep, but he shakes himself a bit to look livelier. It's only nine o'clock, but, between prepping a three course meal for Leslie and their obviously hungry kiddos in the womb and finishing a freaking mountain of paperwork, he's kind of wiped. "Why? What happened?"

"I'm, like, eleven billion months pregnant, Ben! I look like a very stuffed chicken nugget!" she screeches, and Ben jolts at the sudden eruption of noise and intensity in sound. "And everyone will be there, and you'll have to entertain people, and I'll just be thrown to the wolves."

His eyebrows furrow, and he places the crumpled book on his bedside table. "Come here," he says gently with a smile, patting the mattress beside him.

Leslie complies, waddling over to her side of the bed and hoisting herself up. She's officially six months pregnant as of today, and he knows how permanently exhausted she is during each and every hour. If he could take this pain, this tiredness and make it his own, he'd do it in a heartbeat. But Leslie's strong and resilient, and he absolutely adores that about her. She has triplets in her uterus, but she keeps going until the job is done, just like always.

The further along she gets in her pregnancy, the harder it is to convince her of anything. She's so incredibly beautiful, but she'll tell him constantly that she's too fat and bloated. She's so smart, but she swears up and down one of the babies (she thinks it's Wes) is eating her knowledge up; he doesn't think that's quite possible, though. She's so tough, but she believes she's a large puddle of goo with no substance. 

She gets beneath the covers with him, placing her head on his chest as he wraps both his arms around her. He kisses her hair, and she tangles their socked feet together. "I love you," he whispers. "And I'm very thankful for everything you've given up for our triple cherries."

"You've given up just as much as me," she tells him.

He shakes his head. "None of that tonight, Les. Be proud of this pregnancy. You're carrying three babies inside of you. You're treating them wonderfully, and they aren't even here yet. These monsters are very lucky to have you as their mommy."

And Leslie nods. She actually nods. 

Trust him, that in itself is a huge feat. 

She settles fully against him, rubbing his arm and bringing his hand up to her lips. She kisses each knuckle individually before glancing out of the corner of her eye to look at him. He smiles and pecks her cheek and snuggles his back into the enormous, soft pillows. 

"But I'm not wearing a dress," she announces abruptly, causing him to jump. "I'll wear footie pajamas or something."

He chuckles. "Okay, love. Okay."


	123. "Fine. Don't say anything and make me worry."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from the lovely BenjisCoolTimes.

She comes home on Tuesday afternoon. 

Leslie's been in D.C. since Friday morning for a Parks conference, having taken a 4:30 AM flight from Indianapolis. And, now, she hasn't seen her sexy, adorable elf of a husband in almost four days, and that's simply not okay with her. She's used to him being by her side throughout anything and everything. He would've went with her since it was primarily over the weekend, but moving him around when he's under the weather wouldn't have ended well for either of them.

So, he stayed home to get better, and she left. Her, Donna, Tom, Jerry, April, and Ron took the conference by storm, but she's just ready to snuggle up with Ben and relax the afternoon away. With him. Because there's no one else on this planet, not even her gorgeous sunfish Ann Meredith Perkins, that she'd rather watch movies, eat popcorn, and chat with than her goofy, nerdy, lovable, boneable husband. 

"I'm home!" she announces, dropping her suitcase off at the door while taking her shoes off. She winces as her bare feet slide across the wooden floor, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that she's getting ready to hug the hell out of Benjamin Wyatt. And she'll kiss his handsome face for good measure too. She's been waiting for this moment for way too long already, and what the fudge?

Where the poop is he?!

He isn't on the couch or in the kitchen or in the downstairs bathroom. He isn't in their home office upstairs either, so she heads toward their bedroom. She smiles when she hears the shower water echoing off the walls and grins even brighter when she cracks open the door to see the polar bear pajama pants she bought him for Christmas sitting near the sink. 

"Miss me?" she asks as she steps further inside.

There isn't a response, even though she's positive he can hear her. 

"Ben?" she questions, pulling back the shower curtain to see him standing there shaking his head. "What's going on?" But, go figure, he doesn't answer her then, even though she's right here in front of him, and this so isn't the welcoming she expected. Where are her never-ending hugs and kisses? "Fine. Don't say anything and make me worry."

She's getting ready to turn around and go unpack her suitcase when he grabs her arm gently with a dripping wet hand. "No voice," he whispers so hoarsely and quietly that she barely has the chance to acknowledge it before it's whisked away forever. 

Oh!

Oh.

He really did sound rough when they talked on the phone last night. He kept having to repeat himself because she couldn’t understand what he was saying, so she did most of the babbling, while he listened intently. Poor guy. At least he looks a lot better today than he did on Friday.

“Why don’t I grab you some boxers and a shirt, okay?” 

Ben gives a thumbs up as she turns off the water. She hands him a towel before she heads to their shared dresser, grabbing the first pair of underwear and ratty, old long sleeved shirt she spies. He should learn to throw away the clothes that are literally falling apart at the seams. Maybe they’ll clean out their closet and drawers this weekend if he’s feeling up to it.

The instant she returns to the bathroom, Ben envelops her in his arms, lifting her off her feet to give her a loving, soft, tender kiss.

“I love you,” he manages to squeak out.

She runs her fingers through his damp hair. “I love you too, Ben.”


	124. "I'm too sober for this."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from anonymous.

"You know," she slurs. "For being so tiny, you're a surprisingly comfy pillow."

Tiny. He's very tiny and cute and small and boneable and utterly handsome. She gets lost in those gooey, chocolatey, brownie batter eyes at least ten times a day, and don't even get her started on his hair. His whirlwind, never tamed, always perfectly messy hair. Mmm. Why is her husband so irresistible? It makes her want to do incredibly naughty things to him.

But, at the moment, that's kind of impossible. He's flat on his stomach, head buried beneath the fluffy pillows instead of actually using them and body bundled in a cocoon. She rubs her penguin socked foot up his calf, and he groans. Maybe he's not that tiny. His calves are basically scrumptious beef cakes. But, no, she thinks about his slight waist and small t-shirts and wonderfully compact body, and, fudge, it's just all too much.

So, she squirms and wiggles (and thanks her lucky stars that he's lying in the middle of the bed) until she's on the other side of him, finally able to kiss those ultra-super-mega-amazing lips. But, the instant she tries, Ben grumbles, and she tries hard not to be offended.

It doesn't last very long. 

"No kissing?" she questions. 

He shakes his head slowly. "I'll throw up if I move."

Poor guy. His voice is all warbled and sad and hoarse.

Hoarse. Like horse! Only with an "a."

Okay, so maybe she hasn't quite reached her own hangover stage yet, but Ben quit drinking, like, twelve days before her... That's not right. Wait. Maybe it wasn't twelve days, but she knows they took a cab home, and their car's still at the bar, and he was intoxicated way before her. And, now, he's sort of grumpy and won't really talk to her. 

And she wants to talk to him! It's frustrating. She has a lot on her mind at the moment, but Ben's eyes are all bloodshot and droopy and sleepy. Okay. New plan. She places her warm hand on the back of his neck, massaging it gently and grinning softly when he lets out a sigh of relief. Eventually, this morphs into her running her fingers through his hair without him budging an inch.

Of course, though, all good things must come to an end.

She's bored.

Very bored.

Very very very bored.

"I'm too sober for this," she tells her husband, who whines and mumbles the second she stops practically petting him.

"Think y'mean too hungover," he says quietly.

"Nope. I'm pretty sure I mean 'too sober.' Ooh, Ben, let's go to the zoo!"

The Pawnee Zoo is extraordinary! Has Ben even seen it?

Wait. What is she asking? Of course he's seen it. He's Benjamin Wyatt, the lion whisperer.

And, also, he's her husband, and liking zoos is a pretty basic requirement for husbands.

"Maybe in a few days," Ben croaks.

"What about now?" she asks excitedly. "We could be there in less than an hour!"

And, then, Ben suddenly sits up and promptly throws up all over the hardwood floor.

"Okay," Leslie whispers, patting his back. "I'll just take that as a 'no' then..."


	125. "Be you. No one else can."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from anonymous.

He isn't expecting a phone call.

And he definitely isn't expecting the call to be for him to come pick up one of their kids. 

Even worse, it's Wesley who's in trouble. Not Stephen for supergluing his teacher's butt to a plastic chair or for stuffing every water bottle in the fifth grade with bubble gum. Not Sonia for a passionate, well-thought out protest on the quality of vegetables in the cafeteria or for constantly correcting fellow students' grammar. Nope. It's Wesley, and he can honestly say he hasn't been this shocked in ages because, let's be honest, they have three ten year olds, and he knows exactly what chaos and commotion look like. 

He took off work today for an eye exam, and he's been napping on the couch since he got home, but pulling himself up has never been easier or more nerve wracking. Wesley's in trouble. He never gets in trouble. Ben seriously doesn't think his son's done anything "wrong" in his life. He's honest, quiet, shy, helpful, and hardly ever picks on his brother and sister. 

Ben pulls on his socks and shoes, grabbing a jacket before heading out the door. His heart bangs in his chest, threatening to explode as he taps on the steering while while biting his lower lip. By the time he arrives at the school, sweat drips into his eyes, and his hair is destroyed from running his hands through it time and time again. He's never this anxious when it comes to picking up Sonia or Stephen because, as previously stated, it's far more common than than he wants it to be.

He heads inside, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket. The second he enters the main office, a brown haired blur runs straight at him, and Ben opens his arms. Wesley refuses to leave his side, even as his principal informs Ben that he's being sent home for disrupting class and throwing a punch at another student. 

Wesley. Being noisy in class? Hitting kids?

Nope. He even asks if they've mistaken Wes for Stephen just in case.

But they're very familiar with Stephen and his antics, and this definitely doesn't reek of his other son.

Wesley's head hangs low the entire walk to the car, and he doesn't utter a single word.

"What happened, buddy?" Ben questions softly.

But his youngest is an awful lot like him, so all he gets is a shrug.

"This isn't like you, Wes."

Wesley sighs. "I know," he tells him. "But I'm tired of always being picked on. Stephen tortures me at home, and Sonia's really not any better. Kids are jerks to me here. They knock my books out of my hands and call me names and take my glasses."

Ben knows about all of this. He and Wesley talk about it almost nightly, especially after particularly rough days where his son shuts down and refuses to speak once he gets home from school. It's to the point where each of their kids have separate rooms for the first time in their lives, but it was necessary to give Wesley at least some form of privacy and freedom.

"But you still shouldn't punch someone," Ben says. "Even if I would've done the same thing."

Wesley's eyes widen. "You would've punched someone too?"

He nods. "I used to get bullied a lot when I was your age. And I also had a brother and sister who found it hilarious to pull pranks on me. I punched a kid named John Montgomery in sixth grade because he wouldn't leave me alone. I'm only telling you this because I know you're mature and responsible enough to never do it again. Don't stoop to their level, okay? Be you. No one else can."

Ben pats his son's shoulder before putting the car in drive, and Wesley smiles for real for the first time all day.


	126. "I don't want to hurt you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from pawneewafflesben. It's from my Wherever The Tide Takes Us AU.

She comes home from work on her lunch break with zero intentions of going back. She misses her boys so much that her heart swells in her chest each and every time she thinks about them. She thinks about Fish’s tiny fingers and toes and how he smiles whenever Ben watches Food Network (he’s a weird baby, and she blames it on his daddy). She thinks about Ben’s crazy hair and scruffy chin and those never ending kisses the instant she walks through the door.

It’s what she needs the most, especially right now. Because Ben’s the love of her life, and she can’t imagine a world where he isn’t with her. She doesn’t honestly know how she survived this long without him. His goofy jokes and crooked grin and dorky t-shirts and delectable ass are a staple, a fixture in her days. But she knows she screwed up. 

She lied to him. 

Leslie lied about sleeping with two other guys before him. Didn’t tell him she was previously married until a couple weeks before Fish was born unexpectedly early. Kept hiding the possibility that Dave or Mark could’ve been the actual father of their tiny, little Fish. And they haven’t exactly spoken about much of this jumbled mess because they have a beautiful baby who’s Ben’s biological son, and she wants to be with him no matter what.

What if she brings up the past, and he shuts her out? 

But, come on, that isn’t like Ben. He’s always super receptive to her ideas, thoughts, and opinions. He’s a great listener. He could work a bit more communicating his own emotions, but she loves him to bits and pieces. But, sometimes, memories of Mark spring into her mind, transporting her back to a time where she wasn’t very happy. 

What if Ben isn't happy? 

He surely couldn't have wanted any of this so soon, so rapidly.

Ben came to Pawnee to do an auditing job and found on his first day that he was expecting a baby with a woman he doesn’t even remember meeting. Now, he has her and a two and a half month old son, but he doesn’t have a job. He resigned three days after Fish was born, letting Leslie keep her job at the Parks Department because of Chris’s stupid rule.

How much did she take away from him?

Leslie unlocks the door and expects those never ending kisses and a drooling grin from Fish. She toes off her snowy heels, puts down her purse, and searches for her boyfriend and son. They aren’t on the couch, but there are a billion blankets, a burping cloth, and a pacifier on the coffee table. She shrugs, heading upstairs and entering the nursery. 

Ben’s sitting in the rocking chair, eyes closed and mouth open slightly. Fish is resting peacefully in the crook of his arm, a finished bottle dangling from Ben’s other hand. She carefully, tentatively takes the tired baby from his gentle embrace and places him in his crib. Her son smacks his tiny lips, and Leslie grins. He’s been fighting a cold for the last few days, and it seems as though they might be getting their healthy baby back. 

She turns her attention to her other sleeping guy, brushing his hair from his forehead and kissing his temple softly. She rubs his flannel covered arm and inhales the comforting, familiar scent of peppermint and cloves. He doesn’t deserve this. What if he wanted something more, something different with his life?

“Hey,” he whispers, blinking blearily at her. His hand is warm and soft in hers, and he stands, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m guessing it’s your lunch break? I can heat you up some leftover mac and cheese pizza if you want.” 

See? She really doesn't deserve him. 

"I don't want to hurt you," she babbles out. "You've given up so much for me already, and I don't want you to resent me."

Ben's eyes widen, and he sweetly ushers her out of the room so they don't wake their baby boy. "Where's this coming from, honey?"

She doesn't deserve to be called "honey."

And she certainly doesn't deserve his unwavering kindness.

She sighs, and Ben bear hugs her, kissing her hair. "You," he starts quietly, "are the best woman in the universe. There's not a second of the day that goes by where I don't want to be with you. I could never ever resent you. You and Fish are my life, Leslie. You guys are all that I want and all that I need."

"But what if -"

"Shh..." Ben coos. "Not 'buts.' I would never lie to you."

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

Ben leans down slightly to kiss her lips tenderly. "It's all I've ever wanted."


	127. "Love is stupid."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from pawneewafflesben.

“I hate Valentine’s Day,” Stephen mumbles, plopping down in his seat at the kitchen table.

Wesley’s wearing this cute pink and white striped collared shirt and absolutely rocking it. Sonia’s in a red blouse covered in hearts that she adores. And Stephen’s sporting a Colts jersey. Blue. It’s freaking blue. It’s February 14th, not whatever holiday warrants this nightmarish tragedy unfolding on her middle child’s body. And he doesn’t even look like he wants to participate in the festivities, including heart shaped waffles that Ben makes from scratch every year. 

“Where’s your shirt?” Leslie questions. “The one I laid out for you?”

Stephen rolls his eyes, drowning his delicious waffle in whipped cream; she tries not to smile at that. “I’m ten, Mom. You can’t just pick out my clothes anymore.” 

Leslie scoffs. “For your information, kind sir, I picked out the shirt your brother’s wearing, and he seems just fine.”

“That’s because Wes is... Well, he’s Wes. But Valentine’s Day is dumb.”

She immediately turns her attention to her husband, who’s reading the newspaper from his iPad and sipping at his third cup of coffee. Yesterday was Galentine’s Day, one of the most glorious days of the year, and she may or may not have drank a bit too much red wine, came home, jumped his skinny and unsuspecting bones, and fell straight asleep. Apparently, in the middle of this exchange, she proclaimed how badly she wanted to watch a Series of Unfortunate Events for the seventh time, have another baby (or six), and then drooled all over Ben’s chest until morning. 

Yeah, it’s not her best moment, but he always takes everything from her in stride.

“Did you hear what your son just said?” she asks incredulously.

Ben doesn’t glance up. “Stephen, be nice to your brother.”

“Wow. Okay, what is going on with everyone in this house today? Do none of you actually realize what day it is?”

Stephen nods. “I know what day it is. It’s a commercialized love parade for greeting card and candy companies. Love is stupid,” he says blatantly.

And then he goes back to shoving waffles in his mouth like a starved boy.

“You’re stupid,” Sonia tells him as she makes her grand entrance into the kitchen. “And I need five bucks for my late library book.”

“Ew,” Leslie mumbles. “You know we don’t talk about libraries. And, besides, Stephen, where’s your holiday spirit?”

He shrugs. “Um, I lost that, like, three days after Christmas.”

“Is that why you’re such a scrooge?” Wesley asks, sitting closest to Ben, who still seems to be oblivious to it all. “He came into my room last night whining about how Josie Larson doesn’t think he’s cute anymore.”

“Because she’s into Evan Snider,” Sonia adds. “I heard her talking about it at lunch. Face it, kid; she thinks you’re gross.”

Leslie shakes her head, goes back to the counter, picks up a waffle, and tears right into it.

And then she feels warm, comforting hands snake around her waist. Ben kisses her neck, wrapping her up in his arms and making her feel more secure than ever. He never fails to make her smile, to cheer her up when she’s down, to make her laugh with his nerdy words. He’s the light of her life. Of course, she loves their monster babies to bits and pieces, but Ben’s so perfect in every way imaginable.

“I love you and like you,” he whispers, planting a peck on her ear.

She grins. “I love you and like you.”


	128. "Because I love you, goddammit!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from pawneewafflesben. It's set during my Right Hand Woman AU.

He can’t.

He can’t do this anymore.

He’s so fucking tired of even breathing the same air as her. He can’t stand that she sits practically on top of him, offering up ideas and solutions as she jots them down recklessly because he can’t. He can’t write. He can’t do his job. He can’t even move his arm without absolute agony rippling through his body, sending shock waves down his spine. And she’s here in his office with him the entirety of the work day, and he isn’t sure how much longer he can take it.

The blinding lights above kill his eyes. He rubs his forehead. He exhales and sits back further in his chair, sinking against it and letting the coolness soak into his heated skin. Leslie’s working on spreadsheets that he’s supposed to be verbally filling in for her, but he stopped talking a long time ago. He’s explained the formula a few different times while they were still together, and he’s pretty sure she’s remembering bits and pieces of it because her answers aren’t wrong. But, then again, Leslie Knope is never wrong.

But, eventually, she stops writing. Starts fiddling with her pantsuit. Her dynamite pantsuit that would look so much better on his floor. Ha. He stole that one from Tom. Not that it matters anymore. He’s having a hard time finding things that do matter beyond her. She’s fucking infectious, and he just wants to live beneath her skin, to soak up every bit of vitality, spirit, life she has to offer. Because she’s Leslie Knope. 

She’s Leslie Knope, and she completes him.

“Are you okay?” she whispers. “Headache? I have some Tylenol in my purse.”

He shakes his head, coughing into his fist. Tries to act normal. “Um, no... No thanks. I have some in my desk.” He opens the drawer for effect. Leslie reaches in the same time he does, and their hands bump. A surge of anger and then hurt and then happiness and then despair washes over him like some pathetic ass tidal wave, and has he always loved her this much? Did it take losing her to make him fucking wake up and see what is really in front of him?

Ben tries to open the bottle, but he can’t move the fingers on his right hand without his whole arm erupting in pain. 

“Here,” Leslie says, taking the bottle from his grasp softly. She’s so beautiful, and she opens it with ease, placing two capsules in his palm. 

But he doesn’t want them. He just wants Leslie.

All he wants is Leslie, and he can’t.

He can’t do this anymore. 

Yes, it’s redundant in every sense of the world, but his heart... Good lord, it’s so fucking cliché and stupid, but his heart is ripping out of his chest with each passing second that he doesn’t hold her in his arms. Breathe in her scent. Take her hand in his and knows it’s okay. Being with her is like being with the sun, and it’s so much more perfect than Ben noticed.

“You should take them if you’re in pain,” she says, gesturing to the pills.

But he drops them on his desk instead. “I, um... I-I have to go.”

He quickly pushes himself up, and Leslie quickly stops him. “Wait. Why?”

Ben shakes his head. Feels tears swell in his eyes. He blinks them away.

“What’s going on, Ben? Why can’t you talk to me anymore?”

“Because I love you, goddammit!” he yells, thanking his lucky stars that the door’s shut, and no one, especially Chris, hears his stupid admission.

And then... Silence.

He can’t bring himself to say anything else, so he doesn’t.

Ben leaves and doesn’t even bother looking back because there’s no reason to.


	129. "I'm in love... Shit."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from the wonderful pawneewafflesben.

Ben does so much for her.

The very least she can do is attempt to make a calzone for him.

Except she has no fucking idea why calzones are a thing or how to make them.

But she pulls out his cookbooks anyway.

She already knows he isn’t having a great day. He came home for lunch and immediately took a forty minute nap, his head in her pillowed lap as she carded her fingers through his hair. He’s sleep deprived from stress and her bouts of morning sickness and the worries of becoming a father, and she just wants to make him feel a little better. She knows it isn’t much, but he’s been so supportive, loving, and caring through it all. He puts her way before him. 

But calzones don’t actually any sense, so it makes perfect sense to her that it goes horribly wrong. Because she’s pregnant with their three babies, who kick her bladder at the worst times and make her crave pickles and ice cream pretty much twenty-four seven. Leslie swears her bump expands with each passing second. It’s hard to maneuver herself freely around the kitchen with so much restriction, but she’s going to try.

Except it’s also a scorching early September day. She’s on bed rest, and he’s at work, typing away with those nimble, perfect fingers. Which just means that it’s hot outside, and she shouldn’t be complaining. She gets to sit in the house all day and watch TV, scrapbook, do her work, and then nap whenever she feels tired. It drives her absolutely nuts, but Ben and Dr. Saperstein proclaim it’s for the best if she wants the triplets to be full term.

It’s 5:17 by the time she puts them in the oven.

Ben unlocks the door not even a minute later.

He hugs her the second he sees her, and he never fails to make her feel so special, so important. She grins and wraps her arms around him. She’s kind of almost five months pregnant, her bump is huge, and she’s basically a bloated whale; it makes embracing even his tiny frame extremely hard. Ben kisses her forehead before moving down to her belly, planting three kisses there and whispering three “I love you’s” to each of their monsters. 

“How was the rest of your day?” she questions, giggling when he strips off his suit jacket, tie, and button up right here in the middle of the kitchen.

Ben shrugs. “It was alright. I just missed you guys.”

See? She doesn’t know how anyone’s husband could ever top hers because he’s extremely perfect and has a very cute butt.

“We missed you too, Mr. Wyatt,” she says, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him again.

“What smells so good?” he asks, taking in a whiff of the air.

She grins. “I knew you weren’t having the best day, so me and the babies decided to make you calzones.” 

Ben smirks back. “That’s very nice of you all.”

“Well, I’m in love with... Shit.” 

Crap. Crap crap crap.

Crap on a bun.

No. 

Crap on a calzone. 

“You’re in love with shit?”

“No! I... I forgot to add in the marinara like a freaking dolphin-faced moron!” she exclaims, motioning to the far right counter at the mixing bowl.

But, instead of letting her breakdown right there, Ben holds her tightly again. “You’re anything but a moron, Les.”

“I ruined your dinner surprise.”

He shrugs. “There will be other calzones. But I really really appreciate you trying to make them for me.”

At that, she cracks a small smile. “Really?”

Ben kisses the tip of her nose. “Really.”


	130. “I thought it was a one night stand... And now we’re married.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from pawneewafflesben. It is based off of my "Wherever The Tide Takes Us" AU.

“Leslie, relax,” her mom says. “You guys will only be gone for five days.”

She sighs, hiding her face in her palms because this is already too much. She got married to the love of her life a mere four days ago, and now they’re getting ready to go on their honeymoon to gorgeous, luxurious Hawaii. But, instead of the sand and margaritas and jumping Ben’s bones, she’s teary eyed over leaving their two year old son here. In Pawnee. Without them. 

The only time they’ve spent apart from Fish is during that six week stent in the NICU after his birth. And, trust her, she and Ben visited him daily. They used to alternate spending the night in a ridiculously uncomfortable plastic chair by his incubator and then crib just to be there for him. To let him know that his parents are close by and won’t let anything bad happen to him. Now, they’re basically throwing him to the wolves, and Fish doesn’t even like wolves.

And neither does she. Nope. She hates wolves.

Guilt gnaws at her heart, and her mother wipes a few fallen tears from her cheeks with her thumb. That’s Ben job. He always knows exactly how to cheer her up. She should go find him. Tell him she loves him. Wrap him up in her arms and stand on her tiptoes to kiss his lips and run her fingers through his hair. He’s so sweet. Gentle. Soft. And he’s more than just the perfect dad to their tiny, little Fish. She can’t picture a fraction of a second of her life without him.

“Momma,” Fish says, announcing his presence and tugging at her jeans. 

She lifts the blue-eyed toddler into her arms, pecking his cheek and smiling when he giggles.

Okay. Nope. There’s no way she can leave this guy behind.

“Maybe we should take him –”

Her mother instantly shakes her head. “No way. It’s your honeymoon. Enjoy it with Ben.”

“But Fish needs –”

“Leslie,” her mom warns.

She exhales loudly. “Fine,” she says. “But if he forgets who his mommy is, it’s all your fault.” She hands Fish to her, and more tears swell in her eyes as her own mom lifts him into the air and blows raspberries on his tummy. His cute, adorable baby tummy. Well, he’s not exactly a baby anymore, and that is nearly enough to kill her, but he’s smart, creative, and cuddly. He’s two years old, and he’s already memorized the opening sequence to the original Star Wars because his daddy’s a nerd that she loves to pieces. He’s two years old, and he’s already so enticed by waffles that Ben can hardly make anything else for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

He’s the perfect combination of the two of them.

Leslie grins again when she hears Fish shriek in delight as she ascends the stairs to their bedroom.

Their bedroom. Their love nest. The place where Ben proposed the day after Fish’s first birthday.

And now he’s her husband.

Husband. She loves that word now more than ever.

Ben’s folding clothes, stuffing them into his own suitcase because there’s no way Leslie can afford to share this time around. She has to get souvenirs and is considering possibly packing up everything for Fish and letting him join in their honeymoon fun. But then she spies the blue and grey plaid boxers he’s creasing neatly and instantly decides that there will be no room for an explorative toddler on this vacation. Nope. Adults only. So she can bone her husband whenever she pleases.

“Hey,” he says. “I think I figured out a way to save –”

But she stops him right there because his lips are simply irresistible. 

“I love you,” she whispers in his ear once they part; he shivers against her. “You know, I thought it was a one night stand... And now we’re married.”

And there’s that stupid, crooked grin and a twinkle in his brownie eyes. “Very married.” 

Ben gently pushes her on to the mattress, and she snickers. “What are you doing, Mr. Wyatt?”

He kicks the bedroom door closed with a bare foot. “Well, Mrs. Wyatt, I figure now is the perfect time to show you just how much I love you.”


	131. “My name isn’t Leslie... Who’s Leslie?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from pawneewafflesben.

This can’t be happening.

Things... Things like this aren’t supposed to happen. They’re supposed to be dramatic instances on television shows to keep the audience invested in storylines and characters. But they’re not supposed to actually happen. Because he wouldn’t wish the reality of this on anyone. The reality of him sitting in ICU with a busted ankle and twenty-something stitches in his side and his wife not having a clue what year it is. Where she is. Who she is.

“My name isn’t Leslie...” she repeats for the sixth time in ten minutes. “Who’s Leslie?”

Ben’s stomach shrivels in on itself, and he puts his head in his hands. 

“Your name is Leslie,” he hears Ann tell her, concern lacing her words. “Leslie Knope.”

He imagines her cute, little nose scrunch. “What’s a ‘Knope?’”

And he exhales shakily. Tries to get a grip on himself because him feeling like this won’t help her get any better. Tries to wrangle in his out of control nerves and to make his entire body stop trembling. It’s deceiving as hell because Ben’s seen her. She looks fine. Really actually fine, but she’s far from it. There’s a small cut on her forehead, a sight bruise on her right cheek, but there’s no internal bleeding. No broken bones. No sprains or stitches. 

What if she never gets her memory back? What if she never remembers anyone?

What if he loses his wife forever?

It’s selfish. He shouldn’t think like this. 

Okay. Stop. He needs to get up. Get some fresh air. Grab a cup of coffee.

“Uh uh, Wyatt,” Ann says as he begins to squirm around in the chair by Leslie’s bedside. “Stay put. You’re not even supposed to be in here anyway.”

“Coffee,” he croaks out, staring at Ann with unshed tears in his eyes.

“I can get you a Sprite, but that’s it. You’re still on an IV.”

He nods, and she gently pats his shoulder before exiting the room. The room that’s currently stifling his every breath. He fans himself with his hand, pulling at the collar of this stupid hospital gown he’s forced to wear. He’s fine. Completely and totally fine. But what isn’t fine is Leslie sitting in that damn bed and staring at him like she doesn’t know who he is. Doesn’t know that she’s the absolute love of his fucking life, and he almost lost her.

Maybe did lose her.

Already lost her.

“You’re cute,” his wife slurs out, giggling adorably.

It’s another knife in his gut. Another wound to lick. 

Because what if she never remembers?

He’s been told numerous times in the last twenty-four hours that amnesia is very very rarely permanent, but Ben’s not the kind of guy who can just sit and watch this. He wants Leslie to be Leslie again. His Leslie. The woman he fell head over heels in love with. But he’ll be by her side no matter what. Always. Even if this kills him, destroying him from the inside out. He chews on the skin around his thumbnail and shifts in the seat that’s making his butt go horrendously numb.

“Y-You’re...” he stammers out. “You’re cute too.”

Good lord, it’s so fucking true.

He remembers her curly, gorgeous blond hair strewn all over his chest while they sleep at night.

He remembers the feeling over her body writhing beneath his, remembers her curves against his touch. 

He remembers staying up for three days straight with her during her City Council campaign. He remembers buying her JJ’s for each and every meal and both of them getting horrendous head colds a bit later from not sleeping. He remembers her laugh and her smile and her smell and her touch and her soothing reassurances that everything will be okay. He remembers believing it.

But this... This can’t be happening.

He wipes away his tears and gulps and rubs his hands on his sweatpants covered knees.

“Ben,” he hears, and he swears it’s Ann at first. “Do you know where I could get some waffles?”

Leslie.

Leslie Leslie Leslie.

He hobbles over to her on one leg in an instant, wrapping her up in his arms and kissing her hair.


	132. “You’re cute when you’re all worried.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from pawneewafflesben. It is a companion ficlet to the previous chapter.

“You should be resting,” she hears Ben say for the millionth time.

She’s trying really hard not to explode all over the place. She’s fine, but her husband is suddenly under the impression that she’s made of glass. Doesn’t even let her bathe by herself anymore because he’s afraid she’ll slip and fall and hit her head again. But he’s not taking into account that all she had was a brief stent of amnesia with a slight concussion. That’s it. She’s not the one with a broken ankle or a stitched up side that makes it look like part of Frankenstein’s monster. 

He’s the one who should be taking it easy. Not her.

But he’s up and about regardless, catering to her every whim and cooking her so many batches of waffles and kissing her every few seconds like he’ll never see her again. He hasn’t been sleeping that well since the accident, and he’s sporting a beard and messy, adorable, disastrous, out of control hair, and has he lost weight? His white long sleeved shirt’s sagging off his shoulder as he crutches over to the couch. His plaid pajama pants look like they’re about to slip completely off his waist. 

Leslie pats the cushion beside her. “Sit,” she commands.

He shakes his head. “I still gotta –”

“Just sit down, Benjamin.”

He ducks his head, complying wordlessly. 

“Are you doing okay?” she questions, shifting a bit so she can look him in the eye. 

Ben nods immediately. “I’m fine. Are you alright? Does your head hurt? Do you want me to get some more –”

“Honey, please,” she coaxes. “You’re cute when you’re all worried, but this... You’re scaring me. This entire time, you’ve only been thinking about me. You’re so loving and caring and doting, but you’re running on fumes, okay? You need to let me take care of you.”

He gulps, swallowing thickly. “I... I was so terrified, Les. I thought I was gonna lose you. And then you didn’t remember me or who you were or anything about our life together, and then I started thinking about... about your dad. About how much you miss him. A car accident killed him too... And I know you’re right here, and you’re okay, but what if you weren’t? W-What if I lost you that day?”

Leslie grabs his hand. “I’m right here. I’m right here, Ben.” She wipes away the few tears that stream down his flushed cheeks gently. He flinches and hiccups and buries his face into the crook of her neck. She rubs his right arm softly, peppering kisses in his hairline as he shivers against her skin. “I’ll never leave you.”

Ben shudders and nods, and Leslie takes it upon herself to maneuver him to where his head’s lying in her pillowed lap. She drapes a green and blue blanket over him, and he grumbles in pain before settling down. She knows she should get him some medicine, some ice, but he needs her right now. Just her. She cards her fingers through his hair. His eyes droop closed. 

“You really are okay, right?” he whispers.

She leans down to kiss his forehead. “I’m perfect.” 

He smiles up at her before his soft breathing finally evens out.


	133. “I prefer blondes.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from the lovely pawneewafflesben.

“So what’s with your fascination in brunettes?” she questions, tracing patterns on his bare chest.

“Huh?”

And, okay, yeah, he’s probably almost asleep, but it’s so not her fault he goes to bed super extremely ridiculously early. It’s only 12:14 in the morning, and Ben’s been yawning since somewhere around nine, proclaiming that they should both get to bed. He always wants her to be well rested for the workday, but come on. That’s impossible. Everyone that knows her understands it’s impossible, except him. He’s stubborn. She’s stubborn. It works well for them.

She rubs over his nipple with her thumb, and he inhales sharply. 

“Chris always says you like tall brunettes,” she points out. “He’s said it twice this week, actually.”

Ben scrubs a hand down the side of his scruffy face. “He’s trying to set me up again,” he mumbles.

Leslie immediately sits up. “What? With who?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Can we go t’sleep now?”

Ben tries to tug her against him once more, but that’s not flying right now. No, sir. 

So they’re in a secret relationship; Who cares? 

Screw it. They should just say, “screw it,” and tell the entire world.

At least this way it’ll get Chris off Ben’s back and make him stop trying so hard to find her boyfriend a date.

“I’m gonna call –”

And now Ben’s sitting up too. He looks awfully enticing with that disastrous hair and pink lips and a jaw that can cut through glass, but this is an outrage. How dare Chris try to tear them apart when he doesn’t even know they’re together? It’s insane!

“Leslie,” he says while yawning, and, okay, this is not the time to be drowning in his gentle, warm brownie eyes. “I love you. Only you. Chris trying to set me up will never change that.”

She scoffs. “Tell that to the next tall brunette he tries to make your wife.”

“I prefer blondes,” he says matter of factly. 

Leslie grins. “You do?”

He smiles back. “Uh huh. Always have.”

Ben settles her back down against the fluffy pillows, and he’s still very naked and warm and cuddly and sexy, and he’s doing that thing with his tongue that drives her wild.

“I still have some concerns ab –”

“Shh, baby. Let me take care of you.”

She nods and lets him.


	134. “D... Did you just make that noise?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

Okay, one: That’s a cliché. And two: It’s 4:11 in the morning, so she supposes it’s only natural that it’s quiet. She knows it’s ridiculously early-late, but her brain is on fire with so many ideas for anything and everything. By “anything and everything,” she means just that. She has ideas for ice cream flavors, how to get the stains completely out of Stephen’s baseball uniform, why manatees are too cute for words, an alphabetical scale on how much she loves her husband’s delectable butt, and 1,734 names to choose from if they ever get a dog.

But then Leslie hears this noise. It’s light, quiet, barely noticeable. Except she has shark-like hearing, and her spidey senses are tingling, but she definitely isn’t going anywhere. Nope. That’s Ben’s job. He’s the protector of this household when it comes to unidentifiable noises. So, she shakes his shoulder, and he grumbles, tugging the comforter over his head. He’s played this game once or twice with her. Usually, it’s just the raccoons, Linus and Calvin, making excessive, unnecessary noise because one or both of them are mad for whatever reason, but she doesn’t want to take any chances. Their ten year old triplets are asleep in their rooms, after all. 

“D... Did you just make that noise?” 

“No,” he immediately tells her, curling into a tight ball on his side and covering his face with one of the eight polka dot pillows they sleep with each night. “’s way t’early for this... ‘s prob’ly just the ‘coons anyway.”

She nods, even though he can’t see her. “I know! But we can’t let them eat the cupcakes I baked, Ben! They must be stopped!”

Her husband rolls over to face her, and good lord. He’s scruffy, and his eyes are super heavy, and he’s bundled in blankets and looks so toasty. She brushes his wild hair off his forehead, leaning over to lightly kiss his amazing lips. Mmm. Boning. She’s totally down for a nice boning adventure right now. Ooh! Maybe Ben’s a drug smuggler who’s only option is to hide her – 

“’m not gonna be a drug smuggler again,” he rasps.

Damn him. Damn him to heck for reading her mind.

“Just this once?” she begs.

He shakes his head, scratching his cheek. “Thought you wanted me to check out that noise?”

“Of course I do! But then you can come back, and we can make out.”

Ben grins. See! This is what she loves about him. “Only if you come with me.”

He gets up, taking her hand and kissing the back of it sweetly before throwing on his discarded flannel over his oversized, holey Star Wars t-shirt. He yawns four times as they descend the stairs, and Leslie keeps staring at him the entire way because he’s way too handsome of a man for her to ignore. They’ve been married forever and have three kids together, but she’s still forever and always falling more in love with him every single second.

They make it to the kitchen, and she expects to see Linus and Calvin going at it over some sort of food. Last week, it was Ben’s leftover calzone. The week before, it was the kids’ triple birthday cake extraordinaire. But the lights are on, and her heart thumps in her chest. Raccoons can’t reach light switches. At least she doesn’t think they can. Unless they grew another four feet, this definitely shouldn’t be an issue. Leslie clings to Ben’s shirt with her stomach down at her toes.

“Stephen?” she hears Ben question.

Okay.

Whew. They really dodged a bullet on the five foot tall raccoons.

Their middle triplet is standing in the kitchen, pouring a glass of milk and unwrapping a chocolate cupcake. 

“What?” he asks innocently, taking a bite. “I got hungry.”


	135. “Can we just watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

“Sex,” she says. “We should have sex.”

Ben doesn’t even move from the other end of their sofa, where he’s bundled in a plaid blanket with his socked feet resting in her lap. Stephen’s snoozing against his chest, and she watches out of the corner of her eye as her husband kisses their son’s bald head. He’s sleepy. She can tell. But her mom will be here any minute to pick up their two and a half month old triple cherries, and they should be preparing for a night of white wine and boning.

Instead, though, she’s finishing breastfeeding Sonia, and Wesley’s eyes keep fluttering from his spot in the bassinet, and she’s never been more excited to get an evening off. Usually, she’s all for working and playing and cuddling with her family at the same time, but she needs this. She and Ben both need this. Between the constant chaos that comes with newborns and Ben’s ridiculous work hours that sometimes keep him gone for ten hours a day, they barely see each other anymore. And she hates how disconnected she feels from the love of her life.

Which is why she needs him to respond. To say “yes, let’s bring the house down.”

But he doesn’t, and her heart sinks.

“Can we just watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch?” he whispers.

She’s lucky. She’s been sleeping. Well, her version of sleeping. Ben tries his hardest to be the parent that gets up and out of bed at three in the morning to change diapers, to sooth nightmares, to kiss and cuddle their crying babies. She may have given birth ten whole weeks ago and is completely up to working order down there, thank you very much, but Ben’s not buying it. He’s convinced that he’ll bother the former incision or mess up the healing process of the scar he himself puts cream on twice a day.

He always tells her how much he loves her, how thankful he is that she brought their monsters into this world. But they haven’t had sex in nine days. Nine days. Nine whole entire days. She’s still in awe of that number. And, even then, he’d been so nervous to actually touch her. She had to tell him over and over again that she’s alright, that she isn’t made of glass, that whatever they do won’t hurt her. But, now, she takes in the droopy eyes and the baby dozing on his chest, and she rubs his foot with her free hand, massaging out the kinks the best she can. 

“I miss you,” she tells him. “I don’t like this.”

Ben’s eyebrows furrow. Stephen keeps sleeping. “Don’t like what?” 

“This. I want to be with you, but I can’t.”

He frowns. “I’m sorry, Les. Things are just... weird right now.”

“Weird how?”

Ben shrugs. “I dunno. I feel like we’re drifting apart in a physical sense, but the babies kinda cockblock me every time I make a move...” 

Okay, that’s true. It’s not for a lack of trying. Combined with his anxieties of hurting her are other beasts. Said beasts are their three babies, who seem to need something every second of everyday, sucking the life out of both of them. And she wonders if they’ll ever go back to being Leslie and Ben because she misses Leslie and Ben so much.

“They’re leaving in like five minutes, babe,” she reminds him with a sly smile.

He nods and yawns, and his poor brownie eyes are so bloodshot, and his hair’s a mess. 

“How about this: We take a nap, eat dinner, and then we can bring the house down.”

Ben grins. “I like the sound of that.”


	136. “You can’t eat solids. Only liquids until Thursday.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is also a drabble prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

Okay.

He’s going nuts.

Actually, for real nuts.

“You can’t eat solids,” he reminds her as she eyes his slice of pizza carefully. “Only liquids until Thursday.” 

She looks like a cute chipmunk with huge, pleading, beautiful blue orbs and puffy cheeks. 

But the adorable factor of this is largely overshadowed by the fact that she’s been very similar to a nightmare since her wisdom teeth extraction earlier this morning. Ben remembers having his pulled a few years back, when he and Chris lived on the open road and in shitty motels, and, needless to say, it wasn’t the most pleasant experience. And Leslie keeps trying to move around and continue scrapbooking, working on her binders, and sorting through her growing pile of emails on his laptop.

And then there’s the talking.

She’s always talking, and he loves that about her. But she should focus on recovering. He’s tried to get her to relax by giving her a back massage with lotion, letting her cozy up against his chest while he reads Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets aloud, and even watching any and every movie she could ever possibly want to watch, including his thirty-ninth viewing of Finding Nemo since March. But none of it’s working, and now they’re sitting at the kitchen island as Ben munches on his dinner. She rambles about spaceships and traveling in boats and living in...

A waffle?

Did she really just say she wants to live in a waffle?

“Oooh! And it would be so fluffy and creamy and delicious, and, hey, we should really consider adopting a dog!”

He rubs her arm gently. “Babe, why don’t we go try to take a nap?” 

She shakes her head. Of course she does. “No way, Benjamin! Let’s play laser tag instead! I’ll grab my coat!”

“It’s July,” he points out. “You don’t need a coat. And, see, this is why you should be upstairs. In bed. Resting.”

“You know, I get the emphasis without you actually sympathizing it. Wait. No. Not ‘sympathizing.’ Empathizing?”

He rubs his forehead, standing up and dumping his half eaten slice into the garbage. “Okay, Knope. That’s it. Bed. Now.”

“But we were having such a fantastic conversation!” she exclaims. “My teeth don’t feel good.”

He nods, smiling sadly as he helps her get to wobbly feet. “I know, honey. I’m gonna get you some ice, and we’re gonna lay down for a while.”

“You just want to sex me, Mr. Wyatt,” Leslie says, giggling during their ascent to their bedroom. 

“Yep. My whole goal is to take you upstairs and ravish you, even though you can’t even kiss me.”

She stops them on the third stair from the top and presses their lips together. Her face is still super puffy. “See! I can so kiss you!”

“Not exactly the type of kiss I had in mind, but I’ll take it.”

Ben settles her down on their mattress, pulling the comforter up to her chest even though it’s a little hot in here. He wipes the sweat from his forehead while he gets her painkillers and a glass of water. She takes them without any complaints, rambling on and on about how they should build a tree house. Have eleven babies. Go skydiving (even though he’s deathly afraid of heights). Take a train to Alaska. Breed monkeys for a new living.

“Baby,” he whispers as he chucks off his t-shirt and jeans, climbing into bed with her. “Go to sleep.”

She shakes her head. “Not a chance, King Sexy Butt. Speaking of your butt, can you come a little closer?”

He complies.

Leslie places her head on his chest, hooking her leg around both of his.

“Mmm... Better...”

She’s finally asleep in seconds, and, of course, that’s exactly when Ben realizes he hasn’t peed in going on seven hours.


	137. “You fell asleep in the tub?!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from the wonderful SakuraBlossomStorm.

It’s late. Ridiculously late. Ben puts the car in park, tugs on the Chewbacca beanie Leslie got him for his birthday a couple days ago, and makes a mad dash to the front door of their brand new house, not even caring if he slips on ice at this point. He misses Leslie. He wants to be with Leslie. He’s been waiting to wrap his arms around her, to cuddle him against her skin, to make love with her until he’s dizzy and out of breath. He’s been away from her for way too long.

Granted, it’s only been a few hours since he saw her at City Hall, but come on. He misses his weird, passionate goofball of a fiancé. 

He unlocks the door, kicks off his snow-covered shoes, and searches around for her. There’s still a semi-fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, so he figures she must not be far. Her binders are scattered haphazardly around the cluttered kitchen table. His laptop is open, but the screen is black. There are four NutriYum wrappers and three cans of Coke beside it. He grins, even though he figures she’ll be nice and hyped up on sugar tonight. She jumps all over him, demands never ending kisses, and refuses to even go anywhere near their bed when this happens.

Ben shrugs, running a hand through his hair before heading upstairs. She isn’t in their shared home office and isn’t curled up in bed (even though, really, this is ridiculous thing for him to expect to find her doing in the first place). But her closet is open, and the second drawer of their dresser, his drawer, is cracked a bit too. He smiles and raps his knuckles on the master bathroom door before poking his head in.

“What? No! I wasn’t sleeping!” she instantly proclaims the second they make eye contact.

His eyebrows furrow. “You fell asleep in the tub?!”

Ben immediately bundles her up with three towels, helping her out of the tub without any issues. Except she’s shaking horrendously, her teeth chattering as she leans heavily against him. It doesn’t matter in the slightest that his slacks and button up are now drenched too. He just needs to get her in bed, where she’s safe and sound and, most importantly, warm. He pulls a pair of flowery print pajama pants to her waist and gets her into one of his long sleeved shirts. 

“Are you tired, honey?” he questions softly as he buries her in their comforter. Her hair’s still damp, but she didn’t seem interested in blow-drying it, even though he offered to do all the work for her. But her eyes are already closed, and he leans down to kiss her forehead. Warm. She’s a little warm. He should’ve figured. Why else would she be so willing to lie down without a fight after accidentally falling asleep in the bathtub? Leslie Knope barely sleeps; that’s a fact. 

Ben somehow manages to get her to swallow a dose of NyQuil just in case before changing into his pajamas. The second he gets under the covers, Leslie rolls over and snuggles her head onto his chest. He kisses her hair and places his arms around her, rubbing her hipbone.

“I love you, Les,” he whispers.

He smiles when she smacks her lips and cuddles closer to him.


	138. “The skirt is supposed to be this short.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from BenjisCoolTimes. It's based around an idea I'm toying around with.

When Ben was five, he learned how to ride a bike.

His dad was frustrated and a little drunk at the time. Ben remembers not caring to learn; he just wanted to go inside, play with his action figures, and maybe re-watch Star Wars on repeat. But his dad was adamant that he grew a pair and got on the damn thing, so he did. Only Steve Wyatt didn’t care enough to hold on to the back, hold on to his son, like most fathers did. 

He let go. 

Ben remembers peddling and falling. Peddling and falling while his dad took gulps from his beer from his spot in a folding lawn chair. Henry, Ben’s big brother, laughed at the pathetic attempts. The scraped knees and hands. The clatter and crash of the bike each time it hit the ground. 

But, stupidly, it taught Ben something.

It taught him that he shouldn’t give up. It’s a cheesy story that alternates between making him queasy and making him chuckle quietly to himself. He shouldn’t give up, even with his dad acting like he doesn’t give a shit or with his brother laughing his third grade ass off.

So, Ben didn’t give up. Didn’t give up when Ice Town ruined his life. Didn’t give up when Cindy Eckert broke his heart into a million tiny pieces right before prom. Didn’t down those dozens of Zoloft capsules that one cold night in February. Didn’t stick around Partridge any longer than he had to. Instead, he went to college and studied accounting and met Maggie. He met this woman who changed everything about him. Made him a better man. All of that cliché crap, Maggie did it for him.

But he’s giving up now. He hasn’t been happy in ages. Isn’t exactly sure what that feels like anymore, as idiotic as that sounds.

He downs the rest of his third beer. The alcohol warms his stomach, soothes his throat, calms his nerves.

Ben’s fourth beer is slid down the bar to him just as a group of ladies barge in, demanding tequila and... waffles? He shakes his head and frowns and taps the fingers of his left hand on the slick, sticky wood. Fuck. He shouldn’t be here. He should be at home, trying to sort things out with his wife. 

And that doesn’t even sound right anymore, not even in the comfort and privacy of his own mind. Doesn’t feel like it should. He should be as thrilled as he was their first night together in college, all smiles and playful kisses and tender touches. He sighs and runs his hands through his hair and searches around for Chris. He needs to go. He needs to go home. 

But his pal Chris abandoned him first for the bathroom because he urinates roughly twelve times a night. He joined Ben briefly to get prep another shot of wheatgrass, patting his shoulder and telling him to cheer up, to loosen up, to have some fun, before returning back to his more exciting group. And now... Fuck. Now, he’s chatting up this group of four women that just walked in, and there’s no way he’s getting out of this.

Figures. He never should’ve let Chris drive. 

Ben cradles his head in his hand as he uses the fingers of the opposite to draw swirls on the table from the condensation of the bottle. Buzzed. He’s buzzed. But it’s weighed down and dampened by the nausea that swells in his stomach every time he thinks of Maggie. And he’s pretty positive it shouldn’t be this bad. That he shouldn’t feel like this. She could be pregnant. She could be pregnant, and that’s great. That’s amazing. But he can’t go home to that. Not tonight.

“Yo, barkeep!”

Ben flinches and turns to his side to see a woman with bright, curly blond hair shouting instructions at the bartender. Loudly.

Her hair’s the color of the sun.

And she’s wearing... a hat with a giant.. penis on it? He squints. 

Yep. That’s definitely a penis hat.

“The skirt is supposed to be this short,” the lady points out.

He gulps and glances away. “Um, yeah. Of course.”

“So you were staring?”

Ben shakes his head and then points shakily toward the lime green... thing... covering her pretty hair. “No, um...”

“Oh, crap on a cracker!” she exclaims, causing him to jolt once more. “I forgot I was wearing that.” 

She throws it on to the bar in the middle of both of them, and Ben averts eye contact altogether, even though her eyes are absolutely gorgeous. And no. He shouldn’t be thinking about this. Or her. He thinks of Maggie sitting at home on the couch, waiting for his arrival. She’s probably called him six or twelve or ninety-four times by now, but he can’t seem to turn his cell phone on. Can’t seem to get his feet to cooperate with the idea of leaving quite yet. 

“It’s my bestest friend in the universe’s bachelorette party tonight,” she explains. “We might’ve gotten a little too carried away.”

He nods, taking another sip of his beer. 

Shouldn’t give up. He shouldn’t give up. And not on his marriage, of all things. 

The bartender sets down a row of shots, and the mystery woman downs one of them before clanking them together in order to take them to her friends.

“You should join us. Y’know, if you’re not too busy.”

He swivels in the stool and runs his fingers through his hair as Chris waves him over.

“Okay... Okay. Yeah. Sure.”


	139. “Take. It. Off.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

There’s a chance Ben’s still in bed and that Sonia’s upstairs redoing her hair for the millionth time and that her sons are driving her insane. She sort of, kind of wants to duct tape their mouths shut or at least tape them to the wall or something. She needs peace, even if there's only a few minutes of it. But their triplets are now twelve year olds who don’t listen to reason. Not that eleven was any easier, but now all they talk about is 360 days from now when they’re officially teenagers and no longer have to listen to their parents, to comply with the rules.

And that’s simply not the case. They may not be babies anymore, but they’re certainly going to continue to be moderately good citizens of this fine country.

Okay, maybe not Stephen. He keeps sprinkling “fart dust” in his classrooms and has been suspended twice this semester. 

Wait. No. What is she saying? Of course Stephen’s going to turn out fine. He’s just... rowdy. And rambunctious. And has semi-destructive tendencies.

Leslie’s about ready to go upstairs to try to coax her sleepy husband out of his blanket cave with hot, fresh coffee, but then Wesley spills his glass of orange juice.

“Dude!” Stephen exclaims. “You got shit all over my shirt!”

“Whoa, language!” Leslie says. “Just go change, honey.”

But Stephen just shakes his head. “No. No way. This is my lucky shirt. I have a math test today, and I need this shirt.”

Wesley, their youngest and shyest, promptly glances at his brother and gasps. “That’s my shirt!”

Stephen shakes his head. “No it’s not.”

“Yes it is, you jerk! Take it off!”

“Nope,” he says, eating a spoonful of Lucky Charms. “You’ll have to remove it from my cold, dead body.”

Wesley immediately lifts the neck of the blue button up and inspects it carefully. “This is so mine! There’s a ‘W’ on the tag!”

“Pssh... Those taggy thingies are wrong all the time, Wes.”

“Take. It. Off. Now.”

Leslie can tell there’s about ready to be an explosion or a chase around the kitchen table. Or Wesley’s finally going to snap and stab Stephen’s hand with his fork. Or something equally unpleasant.

Stephen sticks his tongue out at him before getting up from the table.

“Okay,” she hears an all too familiar, welcoming voice say. “Let’s simmer down, guys.”

Ben’s still in his pajamas, even though it is almost 7:30, but he pads over to the coffee pot regardless. 

“He stole my shirt, Dad!” Wesley informs. “And now he won’t give it back!”

Ben stops pouring his cup of java to squint at his sons. “You can just burrow one of mine, buddy.”

Wesley hops up instantly and sprints to their bedroom, and Stephen gawks.

“Why don’t you ever let me borrow your clothes?” he asks.

Her husband points a finger to Wesley’s shirt, and Leslie can’t help but chuckle. Smudges of something odd and purple on the collar join the orange juice stains on the sleeves. 

“That’s why.”


	140. “Come over here and make me.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

“This is an outrage!” Sonia proclaims. “And I won’t stand for this kind of brutal, harsh punishment!”

Ben’s eyebrows furrow. “Um, we’re kinda in the middle of something here...”

“Yeah, I know,” his daughter says. “You guys are making out like gross people.”

“So... Leave maybe?” he tells her, and Leslie snickers against his skin. 

Good lord, she’s adorable. And he’d like to get back to making out with her right now, but Sonia’s still in their doorway. Their triplets are ten going on forty, and they seem to respect and acknowledge boundaries less and less with each passing day. The only reason Sonia’s in trouble in the first place is for stepping on Stephen’s hand deliberately while they were at school today. He’s fine, but she needs to know she can’t just pick on him because they’re siblings. It’s the main reason why all three have been separated into different classrooms.

Sonia rolls her eyes. “I can’t concentrate like this.”

“So, once again, maybe you should go?” Ben suggests.

He feels Leslie’s fingers rub his back, and her teeth on the nape of his neck, tugging at his hair.

Yeah, she should leave. Now.

“But being grounded sucks! You guys won’t even let me have the iPad!”

“Okay,” he mumbles, removing himself from his wife’s gentle grasp and getting to his feet. He places his hands on Sonia’s shoulders and directs her outside the bedroom. “We’ll talk about this in the morning, alright?”

He goes to close the door, but his stubborn, strong-willed, beautifully talented and intellectual daughter stops it with her hand. “Are we actually gonna talk about it, or are you gonna go all ‘Dad’ on me tomorrow?”

Ben pulls a face and tries to act offended. “Why, Sonia, whatever do you mean?”

She sighs exasperatedly, throwing her hands up in the air. “Fine. We’ll discuss this later. But you owe me, old man.”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever,” he says, shutting the door with a smile on his face. “Now, where were we?”

Leslie giggles, and she looks so stunning in her floral pajama pants and his Letters to Cleo t-shirt. “You were about to kiss me.”

He chuckles. “How about something different?” 

“What do you have in mind, Mr. Wyatt?”

“How about you, sexy lady, take off your clothes, and we shower together? You know, romantically?”

His wife’s smile brightens up the whole room. “Come over here and make me.”

Ben nods eagerly. “Yeah yeah yeah. Okay.”


	141. “I forgot I was a single parent.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is also a drabble prompt from the amazing BenjisCoolTimes.

Leslie tiptoes quietly into the house, clicking the door closed behind her. She takes off her flats, pulls her hair into a ponytail, and settles her purse on the kitchen counter. She expects to find the sink overflowing with dishes, but they’re all safely secured in the washer. She expects to find loads of laundry strewn everywhere after their babies wanted to be pulled around in their baskets, shrieking gleefully in absolute delight. But no. Their home is silent and calm and, dare she think it, peaceful.

Their kids are two, so it’s amazing that she’s even allowed the brief opportunity to feel that way. But it is almost 10:30, and they probably fell asleep at least an hour ago. She heads upstairs to change into her pajamas, where she plans to hunker down at the desk in their office and go to town work-wise. She has a huge presentation coming up, and she’s been staying late more often than not. But these are the sacrifices she knows she has to make.

Ben’s curled on his side, bundled in their comforter as he watches the news on their TV through heavy-lidded eyes. He grumbles when she turns on her bedside lamp, shielding his face with the blankets. She leans over to kiss his forehead, carding her fingers through his hair. 

She’s throwing her blouse into the hamper when Ben speaks.

“You know, I forgot I was a single parent.”

And it immediately makes her ears tinge red.

Okay. What? Where did that come from?

She’s about to explode when he sits up in bed. 

“You’ve came home so late every night this week. You aren’t here for dinner. You aren’t here to give them a bath. You aren’t here to read them stories or tuck them in or cradle Stephen until he falls asleep. You’re not here for any of it.”

Leslie takes a seat on the edge of the mattress and wrings her hands together. Dammit. 

Dammit.

Not now. She doesn’t want to fight now.

“I don’t want to start an argument,” Ben says quietly, softly as if nothing’s actually wrong. “But I miss you. We all miss you.”

Tears swell in her eyes. “I’ve just been so busy at work, honey.”

And her husband, her wonderful and doting husband, places his hand on top of hers. “I know, love. But this is getting a little out of hand. I want the babies to have you in their lives as much as possible.” 

She nods. “I want to be here too.”

Leslie scoots to where she’s shoulder to shoulder with Ben, kissing the crook of his neck until she’s dizzy.

“I’m coming straight home tomorrow,” she whispers. “I promise.”

He pecks her hair. “I’m looking forward to it.”


	142. “Some things are just better as memories.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from PawneeWafflesBen. It's based off an idea I'm toying around with.

The day the divorce is finalized, Maggie calls him.

He thinks that this is over, that he doesn’t have to deal with the pessimism breathing down his neck anymore. That he doesn’t have to worry about IVF treatments and checking to see if it’s his fucking sperm that’s ruining their chances of getting pregnant. That he doesn’t have to glance at that permanent scowl residing on Maggie’s face. But he should know better. Shit like this doesn’t just die, and shit like this will follow him around, haunt him, until there’s nothing left.

“Your totes are still in the garage,” she informs him the second he accepts the call.

It’s summer and scorching, and he’s outside of his new two bedroom house, carrying in individual, oversized cardboard boxes he conveniently forgot to both organize and label. Sweat drips into his eyes, and he wishes there was a breeze of some sort to combat against the intense, sticky heat. His hands tremble as Maggie tells him about all of the crap left at their place. Her place. She got the house in the settlement, and that’s fine. He didn’t want to live there anymore anyway.

“I’ll stop by and get them eventually,” he tells her, brushing his hair from his forehead and squinting at two squirrels... fucking in the distance. Cool.

He hears Maggie sigh, and it’s enough to make him want to hang up on her. He’s so tired of this. He just wants it all to be done and over with so he can try to move on. Because, while being miserable is his strong suit, he hasn’t been this particular brand of miserable since Ice Town, and it’s bringing him way down. Too down. Like he’s about ready to dial up that therapist Maggie made him go to when they first started seeing each other, but this is Indiana and not Minnesota, and he’s far too exhausted to try to piece himself back together at the moment.

Ben just wants Maggie to leave him alone. Not forever. Not until the end of time. But long enough for him to get his head on straight.

“No, Ben,” she says, and he frowns. “I want them out of here tonight.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t do tonight. I’ll try to swing by tomorrow.”

“Don’t you want them?” she questions.

But he just shrugs. He doesn’t even know what’s in those totes, but he doesn’t particularly care either. “Some things are just better as memories.”

“Okay, well, I’m burning them then.”

What? Holy shit. He almost laughs because she’s ridiculous. Always so ridiculous.

“Fine. Whatever.”

“Your mom’s stuff is in one of them,” she informs.

And his heart skips a few beats, and his heart’s lodged uncomfortably in his throat. He knows there are some legal documents, some dishes, some clothes of hers he still has, but he remembers putting them with his... Shit. Wait. That’s right. He runs his fingers through his hair again and tries to steady his breathing. His heart pounds. His palms sweat. His eyes sting.

“What do you want from me, Maggie?” Ben whispers.

“Nothing. I don’t want anything from you. Not anymore.”

It’s silent on both ends, and Ben sinks to where he’s sitting, leaning heavily against the tire of his Saturn. 

“Just... come get your shit. I don’t want to look at it any longer than I have to.”

He gulps. “Will do.”


	143. “What do you mean you’re in jail?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from the beautiful PawneeWafflesBen.

“It isn’t what it sounds like!” 

Ben’s eyes bulge, and he’s lightheaded. Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here, right? He fans himself with his hand, even though he’s nestled protectively beneath their plaid comforter. And it’s almost midnight. He should definitely be asleep. And Leslie should be curled up next to him, her head on his chest as they watch TV or chat the hours away. He quickly sits up and clicks on his bedside lamp, trying desperately to will his heart rate to slow the fuck down so he can rationalize this in his brain.

“Well, um, honey,” he starts. “It sounds kinda like you might be in some trouble.”

“It’s not that much trouble! I’m fine! It’s just a little jail time!”

Wait. What? No. That’s so not what he was thinking! He thought maybe she got kicked out of the park for a peaceful, late night protest or for eating too many waffles at JJ’s. “Too many” meaning that she may or may not be a little drunk on breakfast food and needs to be rescued. But that is so not part of the equation.

“Jail? What do you mean you’re in jail?”

“It was an accident, love! No one meant for the raccoons to get hurt! Now, can you come get me? And maybe bring me an extra pair of pants; these ones are ruined.”

Ben gives her a warbled goodbye before he climbs out of bed and scampers around the house like a crazy, lunatic person.

~

Wow. Her hair.

And her face. Her poor beautiful face. It’s covered with scratches, presumably from the raccoons she mentioned earlier. 

He’s a quivering mess as he fills out her paperwork, and it certainly doesn’t help that a cop, Officer Roberts, is staring him up and down. Ben gulps and sweats and curses under his breath and tries to act normal. Remain calm. Only his nerves rattle around effortlessly, and he already puked once on his way over here, nearly crashing his car in the process of trying to save the interior of his Saturn. Cops. He doesn’t do well with cops.

And Officer Roberts glares as he signs the bottom of the thick stack of papers.

Ben gulps and then immediately wraps Leslie up in his arms the second he can.

“We need to get you home,” he whispers, kissing her pretty whirlwind hair. 

“Nonsense, Benjamin! Let’s go get waffles!”

“Leslie, you just got released from a jail cell, and you want to go get waffles?”

She nods. And, crap, there’s that hopeful gleam in her sparkly blue eyes, but all Ben can think about is Officer Roberts arresting him for breathing too loudly.

Or throwing up right here in the middle of the room. 

“Okay, baby,” he says, grabbing her hand and entangling their fingers together. “Okay.” 

They walk hand in hand out to his car, and he shakily opens the door for her. He gets in, and she smiles brightly at him.

“You’re so handsome,” she tells him, leaning over to peck his cheek. “Such a handsome Benjamin.”

“Are you drunk?” he asks with a slight smile. “And what the hell happened to you anyway?”

She presses her index finger to his lips. “Shh, no more talking, Benji. Just make out with me.”


	144. “Remember Walkmans?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from anonymous.

Okay, she gets that she thinks this all the time, but Ben really does have a nice butt. She wakes up to it and says goodnight to it everyday, which her husband now thinks is adorable, but come on. Why is that thing even legal? And he should totally know better than to bend down wearing boxers of all things because, seriously, she must jump his bones immediately. He’s amazing with his crazy hair and oversized t-shirt, and he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.

... Or not...

Because, the second she tries to pounce his skinny body, he jumps and accidentally hits his head on their closet storage set. He mumbles and rubs his temple, quickly turning around to greet her hello with a small frown on his face. She kisses his lips and the afflicted area before running her fingers through his hair. Because she’s three months pregnant with their triple cherries, and he’s here in his underwear at 2:30 on a Sunday afternoon, and has he even shaved yet? 

Yeah, she’s got to stop looking at him. He’s far too distracting.

“Remember Walkmans?” Ben questions, holding out the ancient aforementioned piece. “My Achtung Baby cassette is still in here!”

She giggles. “You’re showing your age, Wyatt.” 

Ben shrugs, standing up excitedly and fumbling around with the Walkman to see if it still works. “Henry gave this to me when I was twelve.” He continues fiddling with it, a huge smile on his face as his nimble fingers rub over the device like it’s made of gold. He’s so cute. So gorgeous. Such a sweet man with a nice butt and a slight, compact body like an Italian sports car.

And, so, naturally, she gets to her feet and kisses him. Hard. 

“I love you,” she tells him in between smooches. “I love you so much.”

She moves to take off his t-shirt, but he pulls away instead. “What is happening right now?”

“Sex, Benjamin. Sex is happening right now.” 

He chuckles, carding his fingers through her hair and placing the Walkman on their dresser. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss her bump three times.


	145. "He’s been like that all day.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from anonymous.

“Okay, Knope,” Donna says, entering Leslie’s office unexpectedly. “You’ve got to do something with that man of yours.”

Her eyes immediately widen, heart fluttering in her chest as she drops her pen and stand ups. “What do you mean?” 

She follows Donna into the hallway and toward Ben’s City Manager’s office, hoping and praying that he’s alright. She doesn’t know what she’d do if anything happened to him. They have three month old babies waiting on them to come home, and she needs him. She’s always needed him, ever since the moment they first met. Ben gives her crap for that all the time because she, apparently, hated him for the first few months, but whatever. 

Her main point is that she can’t live without Ben. Can’t even fathom not having him in her life.

“Relax, woman,” her friend tells her as they arrive at their destination. “He’s been like that all day.”

She points inside, and Leslie breathes out a sigh of relief because, thankfully, he’s still breathing. But he’s... asleep? Really? 

Leslie’s about ready to inquire more, but Donna’s already gone. 

She heads in, clicking the door shut quietly and instantly rounding the corner of his oddly cluttered, disheveled desk. She rubs her hands over his shoulder blades, massaging the area gently. Ben flinches and lets out a low, quiet whine, and she reaches over to feel his forehead just in case. Whew. Okay. She doesn’t know how she would handle an under the weather husband and their tiny triplets all at once, especially since her mom is going out of town for the weekend as soon as they get home from work.

“You okay, honey?” she questions softly.

Ben’s head is still pillow in his arms, and Leslie keeps kneading the flesh around his shoulders.

“Mmhmmm... Tired.” 

He yawns and relaxes against her touch.

And she knows exactly why he’s so exhausted. Stephen. Their little monster baby has been a holy terror for the last several nights, but Ben’s so caring and doting that he handles it every time the baby cries for attention. He won’t even let her attempt to get out of bed, proclaiming she needs her rest and to go back to sleep. But, of course, he doesn’t return, doesn’t lie down on the mattress and encircle her in his strong, warm arms. Instead, he stays downstairs on the couch to not disturb Leslie or the other two thirds of their triplet party.

“Wanna go home?” 

Ben shakes his head. “No. ‘m ‘kay.”

“Well, how about we move this nap to your couch?”

She doesn’t wait for a response; she just coaxes him into a titled standing position and maneuvers him on to the small sofa in the corner of his office. He’s definitely not supposed to nap on the job, but he practically runs this entire building, so it’s fine. She brushes his fallen bangs back and leans down to press slight kisses in his hairline.

Leslie’s turning around to go inform his receptionist that she’ll be back to wake him in an hour when her husband grabs her hand.

“Don’t go,” he whispers. 

“I have to, baby.”

He pouts. “No. Stay.”

At that, she smiles. “Okay. But just for a few minutes.”

Leslie settles down in front of Ben, and he slings an arm over her waist before kissing the back of her neck.

“Love you, Les,” he mumbles sleepily.

She rubs the back of his hand. “I love you too, Ben.”


	146. “I’ve never seen you dance before.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

His head is dying.

Like he’s actually pretty fucking sure it’ll explode, and he’ll die, but he won’t be able to come back to life because he’ll be the deadest version of clinically dead. Usually, he can calculate percentages of survival rapidly, but his brain is this gooey, gross mush that chugs backwards instead of forwards, and... It’s hot in here. Why is it so hot in here? And why is he laying on the floor?

Of... Leslie’s office? 

Shoes. He sees her shoes. 

He glances down at his own feet and discovers both of his shoes are mysteriously missing.

Ben gulps and wiggles his socked toes. “Uh... Are we dead?”

Leslie mumbles and groans, and, seriously, how the fuck did he end up in this office? He remembers interviewing, like, eleven billion people for that stupid PR Director thingy, but he doesn’t know how he got here. He just knows he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed with a two liter of Sprite and sleep for decades. But the thought of liquids makes his stomach churn, and is he going to puke again? He scrubs his trembling hands down the side of his face and rolls until his forehead is smushed into something solid, warm, and sexy.

They’re... under her desk? 

Oh, good lord... Did they... have sex?

No, right?

What the hell is in Snake Juice? Why can’t he remember anything? 

As much as he’d love to fucking do that, he knows it’s not possible or plausible or whatever the right word is for this occasion. Because his heart actually hurts when he’s around Leslie Knope, and she’s such a beautiful lady. A beautiful lady with nice hair and pretty boobs and lovely eyes. And these.... these feelings aren’t just entirely sexual. Ben wants to know what it’s like to wake up beside her every morning and cuddle, to bush their teeth standing next to each other. 

“L’slie,” he murmurs. “Did we...”

“I’ve never seen you dance before,” she points out sleepily, slurring her words. “It was nice.”

His eyebrows furrow, but he grins when she reaches over and runs her fingers through his hair. 

Okay. Nope. Abort. They shouldn’t do this. Can’t do this.

Leslie got into a major fight with Ann last night, and they’re all ridiculously hungover, and now is not the time to do anything rash, especially since, for whatever reason, his shoes are gone, and he’s hiding under the desk in this office. With her.

“Um, thanks,” he says. 

Her hand is still in his hair, and he swears he’s dying on the inside. 

“You’re always so uptight, Benjamin. You should really learn how to relax.”

He gulps, but doesn’t say anything.

“You know what helps me relax? Scrapbooking. You should try it.” 

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous. 

Ben’s honestly and seriously about to maneuver himself to where they’re lying face to face instead of in this more or less crumpled heap, but then footsteps approach, and Leslie jumps up quickly, sending his nerves into overdrive. He smacks his head twice trying to get to his feet.

Although, he does smile when she gently squeezes his hand before sulking out of her office with squinty eyes to help April with... something.


	147. “I should’ve written it down.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

Ben’s usually the one to remind her of things. 

He’s the master of all things planning and has the memory of some kind of ultra sexy sea lion with great hair and an even greater body. While she’s also particularly solid at coordinating events, she uses sticky notes and phone alarms and calendars to reinforce upcoming affairs. But Ben’s a freaking super genius with a giant brain (and, seriously, a great ass), and he just remembers dates and times and facts, soaks them up like a sponge, and prompts her periodically to help her recall.

But that trait practically disappears when he’s under the weather. 

So it makes perfect sense that it’s almost nine in the morning, and she’s in the process of getting ready for another day at the lovely City Hall. She decided to come in a bit later after spending hours trying to get Ben into to some sort of working order. She’s curling her hair and humming quietly while simultaneously getting more and more excited because her hair looks amazing already. Perfect hair days are rare to come by, so she’ll take it when she can.

Leslie finishes her routine, padding into their bedroom to grab her purse and a pair of shoes, but not before climbing into bed beside her husband. His fever seeps into her skin, and she presses her front against his comforter clad back, carding her fingers through his hair. He coughs and flinches at the sudden touch, rolling over a tiny bit to look at her before his eyes droop closed.

“I’m leaving for work in a few minutes,” she whispers, kissing his flushed cheek. 

He nods, curling into a ball. She massages his hipbone and lies there quietly for a couple minutes. Normally, she loves work and everything it entails, but leaving Ben here when he needs her much more than usual stinks on ice. But she has three meetings this afternoon; they’re meetings she’ll have to brief him on in the first place, considering he’s mister cutey pants City Manager Benjamin Wyatt who happened to catch whatever this is weeks after flu season’s over. 

She’s about to get up when Ben pulls himself into a somewhat sitting position, leaning over to glance at his bedside clock.

“Didn’t that meeting with the Sanitation Department start at nine?” he questions hoarsely. 

Her eyebrows furrow, but then her eyes immediately widen. “Fudge! Dammit! I should’ve written it down!”

She bolts out of bed and scrambles around, throwing on light jacket that happens to belong to her husband. Crap on a freaking cracker! This is why she needs his reminders. They’re usually so cute and sweet, and this is unexpected, and her heart pounds in her chest because Leslie Barbara Knope is always early to meetings. Always. She’s never been late to anything a single day in her life. Well, until now, that is.

“Do you have to go?” Ben croaks as she’s stepping into flats.

And that makes her stop right away, rounding the corner and taking a seat on the edge of the mattress, despite the fact that she knows she’s late. “What about the meetings, babe?”

He nods. “You’re right. Sorry, I just...”

Leslie smiles sadly, brushing his damp bangs from his forehead. “How about I stay here today?”

Ben shakes his head. “You don’t have to...”

She presses their lips together. “I’m going to bring you some orange juice, and then we’ll watch movies and cuddle, okay?”

Her husband nods and grins before his eyes fall closed once more.


	148. “You’re cute with glasses.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is also a drabble prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

It’s a chaotic, chilly November morning.

Their almost four year old triplets, despite last night being Halloween, woke up around five AM, which she guesses is fine with her since she’s up and about around that time in the first place. But Sonia’s running around in her Hermione Granger costume, and Stephen keeps sneaking candy from the bowl on the kitchen island (not that Leslie can blame him for that), and Wesley’s in a weird funk and crawled into bed with her and Ben before the clock struck three in the morning.

Sonia smacks Stephen on the head with her wand, screeching “Stupefy!” way too loudly. 

But Stephen just scowls, as opposed to breaking out his patented fit throwing system. “You’re stupid,” he says, and it sounds like it's more tactical than anything.

“MOMMY!” her daughter howls. “Stevie called me stupid!”

She guesses three years old don’t understand that she’s literally standing right next to both of them, so she can indeed hear what’s happening. But, regardless, she wants waffles, and Ben’s still asleep, and it’s too early for fighting and playing and crying. She and Ben didn’t go to bed until right before Wesley joined their little party, having neglected the idea of getting some rest to drink copious amounts of wine, followed by an impromptu game of Naked Twister.

And guess who won? 

That’s right; this girl.

She smiles because she’s very proud of her accomplishments, even if it ended with Ben getting wicked carpet burn on his knees because oops.

Leslie can’t help that she’s ridiculous into her husband, especially when he’s extremely naked.

The most naked he could possibly be.

Mmm... Now she really wants waffles. She should go wake up Ben.

But, right as she’s getting ready to head upstairs, a blur of messy brown hair whirls in, and, great, Wesley has his wand too.

And he conks Stephen’s head twice for good measure.

This time, the toddler wails, and Ben, her wonderful husband, joins in the fun and picks up their crying son. Stephen buries his face in his neck and blubbers, while Ben rubs his back comfortingly. 

She guesses they’re ganging up on Stephen today.

But she also guesses her Benjamin is the most handsome Benjamin in all the land. He’s wrapped up in a blue quilt, his black sweatpants low enough on his hips to where she can see the faintest bit of his plaid boxers. And the glasses. He’s totally wearing glasses. He never wears them. Except it’s not even six in the morning, so it kind of makes sense. He’s never ever up this early, and she assumes it was Wesley who coaxed him downstairs in the first place. 

Wesley’s tugging at Ben’s pants even after he places a calmed down Stephen on the ground, and he grunts as he holds the other toddler.

“You’re cute with glasses,” she tells him, taking a sip of her hot chocolate before encircling her husband and smallest son in her arms.

Ben kisses her hair. “You’re cute in everything.” 

“MOMMY!” Sonia shrieks. “Stevie peed in my bowl!”

Sure enough, there’s a cereal bowl on the tiled floor, and Stephen’s pajama bottoms are around his ankles.

Okay, seriously, what the hell did they feed these kids last night? Did Halloween really do this much damage to her babies? 

“What?” he questions innocently with a smirk.

And, of course, it’s Ben’s smirk to be specific.


	149. “Buy me chocolates, and tell me everything’s going to be okay.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from the amazing SakuraBlossomStorm.

She’s adorable in her oversized Garfield t-shirt and sweatpants with cutely messy hair.

And the ketchup stain on her cheek from a massive hamburger thing from Paunch Burger with way too many calories doesn’t stop him from kissing her.

He knows she’s extremely upset and offended at the universe right now, as she has every right to be. He wants to personally ram everyone in Pawnee’s faces in for recalling the best City Councilwoman in the history of this town, but that’s not impossible. Nor is it something he should even be thinking about, considering he just became City Manager. But Leslie’s hurting, and he can’t stand to see his beautiful, gorgeous, perfect goofball of a wife in any form of distress. And, right now, she’s got her penguin socked feet up on her desk as she chucks wads of crumpled up paper into Tom’s wastebasket, a permanent scowl residing on her face.

“Hi, love,” he says softly, kissing her hair before taking a seat in the soft plushy chair beside her. “Ready for lunch?” 

Ben doubts this tiny woman can consume another waffle or deluxe cheeseburger or can of whipped cream, but he never knows with her until he asks.

She shrugs. “Who cares? Life is stupid and pointless, and Pawnee can go jam a finger up its butt.”

“Well... that’s a revolting image,” he says with a frown. “But I think I might have something that will cheer you up.” 

Leslie doesn’t seem all that interested until he unearths the surprise from his messenger bag. The second she sees it, her eyes immediately light up. “Groffle the Awful Waffle!”

He nods. “I had him made for you at the toy store.”

She holds the medium sized, stuffed to the brim waffle to her cheek, tears swelling in her pretty blue orbs. “Why are you always so nice to me?”

Ben scoots closer, grabbing her hand and kissing each finger individually. “Because I love you, Les, and I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

“Anything?” she questions. 

“Anything in the universe.”

“You’ll buy me chocolates, and tell me everything’s going to be okay?” 

He leans in to peck her temple thoughtfully as Leslie continues hugging Groffle. “Of course, baby.”


	150. “I needed someone… and you were the only one I thought of.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from shipsrulemylife.

Ben shows up at her door at 1:47 in the morning. 

He’s carrying a toolbox, and his hair’s sticking up at odd angles. His face is adorably unshaven, and she gulps. Okay. No. She shouldn’t still feel this way about him. They broke up a month ago, but she finds herself mesmerized by everything about him. His oversized grey hoodie sags off his taught, narrow, elfish figure and the deep, bleary brownie eyes are just really doing it for her. He looks as though he barely had the energy to throw on wrinkled jeans instead of staying in the patented flannel pajama pants he almost always wears. Except when he’s naked. 

Mmm…

She has to stop. She bites her lower lip and ushers him inside, the slight humidity of the night following them both in. 

Ben doesn’t kick off his shoes. Doesn’t set down his wallet and keys on the table. Doesn’t wrap her up in his strong arms and kiss her hello. Doesn’t tell her he loves her. No. He doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and shuffles his feet. He doesn’t make eye contact. 

It’s awkward. She knows it is. But she smiles anyway and takes him upstairs. But it’s not to make out. It’s not for him to push her gently onto her mattress, to palm her breasts, to feel his minty breath on her skin or his tongue in her mouth. She wants more. She misses him. She misses him so much her heart literally aches, and she can’t even sleep at this point.

Ben’s such a cute sleeper, all curled up in a ball and snoring a bit too loudly for her tastes. But it’s a good type of snoring. It’s snoring that would comfort her, sooth her, eventually straight into oblivion. But she’s left with what was and what will never be. Can never be. And he’s standing here in her upstairs bathroom with a wrench in his hands, and she can’t believe he’s here.

He came to fix her sink at two AM.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes softly. "I needed someone… and you were the only one I thought of.“

He’s the only one she can think of.

It’s been that way for four entire weeks. Almost five.

“No worries,” he says. “Why don’t you go try to sleep? I’ll get this fixed and be on my way.”

“Do you want me to go?”

Ben stops fiddling with his tools. And there are unshed tears in his bloodshot eyes. And there’s a twinge of desperation, of yearning, in the room. She can’t breathe, not when he looks at her like that. Good lord, she… She can’t do this anymore. 

He stands up, and she instantly melts into his embrace. She instantly lets their lips meet. She instantly allows herself to be swept off her feet. He carries her into her bedroom without their bodies ever parting, like they would suddenly cease to exist without this vital touch. He’s warm and soft and so sexy and perfect. 

Ben runs his fingers through her hair as he settles against her on the mattress. 

And, for the first time in a month, Leslie Knope feels whole again.


	151. “Do you wanna order something? Like pizza?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

“So you’ve eaten... three packages of Chips Ahoy today?” Ben asks cautiously as he gently wipes Leslie’s chocolate covered lips with a washcloth. There’s an exhausted twinkle in her beautiful blue eyes, and she’s yet to tear her gaze from the TV. Her penguin socked feet on the coffee table, the remote and a wrapper from Paunch Burger rest on her expanding belly. And who the hell got her Paunch Burger in the first place? Because it certainly wasn’t him. 

Leslie nods tiredly. “One for each baby,” she says, rubbing her bump.

“Do you wanna go take a bath? Or head upstairs for the night?” he questions, settling down beside her. He wants to change out of his suit, but he shouldn’t complain about his clothing being uncomfortable when she’s almost seven months pregnant with their triple cherries. He knows she loves the babies to pieces, but it’s to the point where they just want them to be here. He wants to hold and hug and kiss their Sonia, Stephen, and Wesley Knope-Wyatt more than anything in the entire existence of the universe at this moment.

Okay, except Leslie. He also really just wants to hold his wife right now too, even if he can no longer wrap himself completely around her (because a triple belly is a dangerous belly). Obviously, she’s Leslie, so she doesn’t get enough sleep for a human to function normally in the first place, but it’s been especially rough on her the last couple weeks. Between the restlessness from not working and the babies weighing heavily on her, she’s verbalized that she’s going crazy, and Ben believes her, especially when she doesn’t have her abundance of energy anymore.

So, she scrapbooks from the couch and occasionally works, but, for the most part, she’s been a good little bean who listens to him when he tells her to take a nap and make sure she’s getting enough sleep. Ben’s very thankful for her compliance; he was sure that Leslie would have the babies way too early because of how openly stressed she made herself in the beginning. But, now, she’s relaxing, soaking up some much needed sofa time, catching up on all of the CNN and C-Span her heart desires, and eats mac and cheese pizza multiple times a week courtesy of him. 

Leslie lays her head on his shoulder, and he rubs over her knuckles with his thumb. “No. But... Could you stand up for a second?” she asks sheepishly.

“Um... Okay,” he says. 

Ben gets to his feet and figures she might just want more cookies (to which he’ll try to get her to eat one stick of celery in exchange), so he goes to head into the kitchen.

“Stop right there, Wyatt!”

His eyebrows furrow, but he quits walking.

“Mmmm...” he hears, and he grins when he feels Leslie’s hands on his ass, groping it elegantly. 

“So I’m guessing you wanted your daily ‘hello’ to my butt?”

He imagines her nose scrunching cutely and a sly, sneaky smile. “Mhmm... You have such a great butt, Benjamin.” 

Ben turns around and kisses her on top of her head. “I’m gonna go get you some waffles, okay?”

Leslie nods, and he finds himself kissing her again because how could he not? 

“No! Wait!” she calls out as he’s toeing on his shoes. “Do you wanna order something? Like pizza?”

“Why?” he asks, heading back into the living room to grab his discarded coat from the back of the couch.

She shrugs and points. “I just saw somebody eating it on TV. Ooh, grab me a four meet and cheese calzone while you’re out too!”

Ben nods and agrees immediately because, come on, of course she craves calzones while she’s pregnant.

After all, their babies are half of him and an even better half of her.


	152. Babysitting Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

“He pooped on me!” Leslie shrieks. “Get it off get it off get it off!” 

“Les, calm down! He’s a baby. He does that.” 

“You put three of these things inside of me, Ben! Three!” 

Ben wants to rub his forehead, but he doesn’t because, well, there’s this weird smudge of light brown on his thumb. He grimaces. Gross. And he totally did put three babies inside of Leslie. They’re expecting triplets in February, but, of course, Leslie wanted to have a trial run with Ann and Chris’s son Oliver to see if she has what it takes to be a Mommy. But he already knows the answer to that. Leslie Knope is already the greatest Mommy in the universe.

Even if she is currently melting down about getting poop on her. 

Okay. Whoa. Never mind. That actually is a shit ton of poop. 

Ben finishes diapering a now calm Oliver before settling the baby in his left arm, grabbing a bunch of wet wipes to soothe over Leslie’s skin. Blehhh.... He kind of wants to take an emergency shower after Oliver’s peeing extravaganza, some of which, for whatever reason, ended up splattering on the ceiling and walls. Maybe he can convince Leslie to burn the clothes they’re both wearing and walk around naked in their best friends’ house the remainder of their visit. Is that weird? No, right? Well, it might be a little weird.

But he can’t help it at the moment. He’s currently running on four hours of sleep for the last two days. After driving up to Michigan and taking care of Oliver along with his wife, there are smudges beneath his eyes that make him look like a zombie-alien-thing, and his hands kind of won’t stop shaking. He’s not sure what that’s about, but he does know that his panic mood is very much on and alert, and his pulse hammers relentlessly in his chest. 

Because he totally and absolutely got his wife pregnant. Very very very pregnant. 

A “very” for each baby they’ll have in seven short months.

He only has seven months to decorate the nursery and stock up on supplies. But they still have to choose the pain and do the rest of the measurements for the triple crib and... Good lord. He doesn’t even want to make another mental list because, trust him, it’s engrained in his mind, etched there permanently because Leslie’s having freaking triplets.

“Ben, baby, we still have seven months,” he hears Leslie remind him.

She knows. She always knows.

He smiles, and she rubs his arm gently with her soft, smooth fingers.

“Do you think we’ll be okay?” he asks quietly.

Oliver starts to fuss again, so he bounces his knees slightly and kisses his very bald head.

And he imagines doing that for their own kids.

Their babies.

Their triple cherries. 

Leslie nods and wraps herself around him and Oliver. “Of course we will, honey. We’re Leslie and Ben. We always end up on our feet.” 

She kisses him, and he finds himself falling in love with this very very very pregnant goofball all over again.


	153. “Huh. So that’s what it’s supposed to look like.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is also a drabble prompt from the lovely SakuraBlossomStorm.

“My monster babies!” Leslie exclaims, letting her six year old triplets bombard them both the second they see their parents. Wesley immediately shoots past her and climbs into Ben’s arms, excited to chatter to his father about his learning adventures, while Sonia and Stephen run straight for her legs, wrapping themselves tightly around them. “Did you guys have a good day at school?” 

Two little monsters nod and beam proudly. 

One doesn’t. 

And, of course, that monster happens to be Stephen Knope-Wyatt. Her middle child scowls and whines and chooses to hide his face in Leslie’s lime green pantsuit leg. Kindergarten is such a big deal for each of them, but it is the biggest of deals to her hyperactive and mildly destructive waffle, so to see him frowning so much on this muggy Tuesday afternoon sends shivers down her spine. Because what if some stupid jerk bullied him? Or what if she sent them to school too soon?

“What’s wrong, buddy?” her husband questions once he realizes that the most talkative of their children isn’t exactly talkative at the moment.

Stephen shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“He drew a picture,” she hears Wesley whisper in Ben’s ear.

(Because, let’s face it, six year olds are that great at whispering or being quiet. Not even the shyest of their babies has mastered it yet). 

“The picture got him sent to time out,” Sonia says.

Stephen face palms himself. Leslie has no idea where he figured what that means, but it fits the situation remarkably well.

Probably Ben. Their kids share a lot of gestures and saying the words “okay” or “good lord” just like their daddy.

“What picture?” Leslie questions. This sounds like an interesting event. 

And she’s sure it’s honestly just a crayon drawing of a tree or a boat or a waffle slathered in whipped cream until it isn’t.

It definitely isn’t.

“Good lord,” she hears Ben mutter under his breath, and Wesley snickers.

“Huh,” Leslie gawks. “So that’s what it’s supposed to look like.” 

“What? No, honey,” Ben says. “That’s... Um, that’s a –” 

“A penis, Ben. It’s a penis.”

Stephen instantly shakes his head and steps away from her legs to point at his drawing. “It’s a rocket ship! Can’t you guys tell? Here are the wings, and this is the stick part!”

“Stick part?” her husband whispers.

And, this time, Leslie chuckles.

Because, honestly, it looks exactly like a penis. A red and blue swirled penis, but a penis nonetheless.

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Stephen exclaims, even before anyone says much about it. The poor kid’s traumatized from all the other times he’s gotten in trouble, but he’s six and sprinkles fart dust on his teacher’s chair and likes to dump Ben’s ties in the toilet and superglues Wesley’s hands to the bathroom sink. “I swear on my Star Wars Legos collection that I didn’t do it!”

Sonia eyes him from Leslie’s arms. “You wrote your name at the bottom of the paper,” she points out.

At that, Ben laughs, and, okay, this situation is too much. Leslie just wants to get these monsters home and into some comfy clothes so they can play until dinner and bath time. And then she can make out with her husband and his delectable butt once the kids go to sleep. Yep. Sounds like a plan. And it sounds like there’s no need to dwell on Stephen’s penis-but-not-penis drawing either.

“C’mon, my precious waffles,” Leslie says. “Let’s go home.”


	154. “When you broke through Earth’s crust ascending from hell.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from BenjisCoolTime.

It’s 3:31 AM.

She’s scrolling through NBC News articles on the iPad when Ben jolts and kicks her in the shin with a socked foot. She lets a quiet, “mother fudger,” leave her mouth before clicking on her bedside lamp. Her husband’s never been one to thrash around in bed. He loves his sleep and typically loses consciousness the second his body makes contact with the mattress, followed by him curling into his patented Ben ball and squeezing on to his Chewbacca pillow for dear life. 

He whimpers, and his eyes screw shut, as if it’s too bright in the room. His breathing quickens. Drops of sweat drip from his hairline. He sniffles. Leslie cards her fingers through his hair in an attempt to soothe him, to relieve his worries. Nightmare. He’s having a nightmare. It’s a fairly common occurrence in the Knope-Wyatt household, but the kicking and screaming and thrashing typically only comes from their four year old triplets, not her forty-two year old husband.

But, then again, they did just watch The Ring, so…

She bites her lower lip when Ben jumps again.

“Hey,” she says quietly, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “Hey, baby, you’re okay.”

Ben rolls to his other side, cuddling up against her. He hooks his leg around hers and pulls her close, so close that his minty breath is hot and comforting on her neck. Okay, so maybe watching such a scary movie a few days before Halloween wasn’t her best idea. Ben’s skittish enough as it is. But it’s only the second horror film they’ve watched in their relationship (the first being The Blair Witch Project; that didn’t go well either), and she wanted to see if he could handle it.

If the flushed cheeks and trembling body indicate anything, it’s that he definitely can’t handle it.

She’s about ready to turn off the light when Ben cries out again.

Leslie shakes his shoulder and smiles sadly when he flinches into consciousness.

“Sorry…” he immediately mumbles, but Leslie just snuggles him even more. 

“You okay?” she whispers, back to running her fingers through his disheveled hair.

He nods. “Bad dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Y-You… You, um, turned into that lady thing in The Ring… And, when you broke through the earth’s crust ascending from hell, you came straight for me… And, well, you, uh, ate me?”

He says the last part like it’s a question.

Leslie can’t help but smile and almost cackle out loud. 

“What?” he asks. “It isn’t funny. I think I almost had a heart attack in my sleep.”

“Benji, you’re fine. And I’m laughing because that’s so not what the movie was about. How much of it did you even watch?”

He shrugs.

Yeah, he doesn’t know because he spent almost the entire film with his face buried in her neck and his body burrowed beneath two blankets.

“Don’t worry, Baby Smurf,” she says. “I’ll protect you from the monsters.”

Ben grins. “Thanks.”


	155. “You wanna see a photo of a cock?” *slides a picture of a rooster over*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

“Hey, roomie!” Andy exclaims, entering the dining room. “Hey, roomie’s booty!”

Ben glances at Leslie, who shrugs before returning her attention to his laptop screen. “Um, okay. Hi, Andy,” he says unenthusiastically. 

But he does smile when his girlfriend squeezes his hand from under the table. She rubs her thumb over his knuckles, and maybe they should head back to his room. You know, so he can show her just how crazy he is about her and how the sun rises and sets with her. How desperate he is to be buried deep inside of her. Yeah yeah yeah. They should do that.

Andy sits down in the chair, which just so happens to be a purple and yellow recliner Andy unearthed from the basement of this house Ben didn’t even know existed. His roommate basically snatches the laptop from Leslie, who is about 2.4 seconds away from screaming right in his face over the delicacies of her work when Ben lets her take over drinking his banana Slurpee he got from 7/11 (she finished her extra large triple cherry one an hour ago). 

“You wanna see a photo of a cock?” Ben hears Andy ask, right as he’s in the middle of staring into Leslie’s beautiful blue eyes.

And, yeah, that does kinda kill whatever mojo he had going on there.

His eyebrows furrow. “What?”

Leslie sits up straighter too as Andy slides his laptop back over to them.

“Psych! It’s a rooster! You guys are gross!”

Ben and Leslie exchange glances before Ben tugs her closer. Their lips meet, and Andy yells at them to stop.

The last thing Ben ever wants to do is stop.


	156. “Yes, may I please speak to pizza?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is also a drabble prompt from the amazing BenjisCoolTimes.

“They’re all down,” her husband slurs, flopping face-first on their mattress. He wiggles enough to where his head is in her lap. She cards her fingers through his messy, soft hair, his minty breath hot on her thigh. And, seriously, she isn’t surprised to feel his body go entirely slack against hers. She forgoes watching anymore CNN and focuses on the steady, but loud, snores erupting from Ben. He’s so adorable like this that she can hardly stand it.

And, actually, she has half a mind not to stand it because he can’t just waltz in here all sleepy and sexy and not expect her to jump his bones.

But Ben won’t let her lift a finger these days. Before the surprise, early arrival of their precious triple cherries, he knew she could handle anything and everything. Stress wasn’t unusual for her. Sleepless nights were more common than not. But, now, it’s been four weeks since her emergency C-section, and he’s still very apprehensive. He doesn’t even let her take a bath by herself, in permanent fear that she’ll get tired and drown or hurt herself in some way.

He cares. She knows that. 

But it’s… a bit much. 

And it’s the reason why Ben’s exhausted during the hours of the day. The triplets require a strict schedule. Leslie still breastfeeds and burps the babies and changes the occasional diaper, but most of these duties are thrust upon Ben, which she doesn’t support whatsoever. She gets to spend more quality time with their cherries now that he’s gone back to work, but she’s at the point where she can’t handle him neglecting his own needs anymore.

He’s still snoozing in her lap when earth shattering crying echoes throughout their entire bedroom.

Baby monitor.

Fudge.

In an instant, her husband is up and back in action.

This time, Leslie gingerly gets to her feet and follows him to the nursery.

She watches Ben tend to a wailing Sonia, who calms down the second he lifts her into his arms. The one month old curls against his chest, and he rocks her back and forth. Thankfully, Stephen and Wesley don’t stir because Leslie sees the puffy smudges beneath his eyes and can’t ignore it when he yawns while he’s in the middle of consoling their daughter with a song.

“What’re you doing up?” Ben asks quietly, taking her arm gently and guiding her back to their bedroom after putting a sleeping Sonia back in her crib.

“Lay down, Wyatt,” she says, pushing him on to their mattress.

He shakes his head. “I still gotta make dinner,” he points out.

“Nope. I’ll handle that. Right now, you need a nap.”

“Les, I’ll be fi –” He yawns again, running a hand through his hair. She watches his eyes soften. “At least let me order you a pizza.”

And, go figure, her stomach growls right on cue.

If it weren’t for the fact that she’s trying to get him to go to sleep, she’d so jump him this very second.

Because damn him, that’s why. Damn him for being so handsome and cute and perfect.

Leslie’s grabbing him a shirt that isn’t slathered in spit up when she hears the, “Yes, may I please speak to pizza?”

She turns around from the dresser and instantly erupts in a fit of giggles.

Because her husband totally isn’t sprawled out on their mattress with the blankets bunched around his socked feet, the phone in one hand as the patented snoring breaks out. His mouth still wide open, she can hear the employee from Mario’s on the other end.

Leslie hangs up the cell phone and covers him before placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Goodnight, calzone boy.”


	157. “Flea markets don’t carry fleas, you know?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from anonymous.

“The last thing we need is more junk,” Ben tells her, averting his gaze.

Because he knows he’s in trouble now. Because he so didn’t just insult Buddy’s Wheels and Deals and Other Things.

No, sir. Not in front of her. 

She has a 50% off coupon for any wheel or deal or other thing she could possibly want!

“I mean,” he starts. “You do have a slight hoarding tendency, honey. And we have three four year olds, so that’s three times the clutter of a typical household. Last week, Sonia found twenty stuffed animal raccoons in our basement and started grooming them. Grooming them, Leslie.”

She huffs. “I get it, Ben.” 

He looks at her, but she can’t see his eyes through his dark sunglasses. “But do you really get it, babe? Because I really don’t want to live in a crazy nightmare hoarder’s nest. Again.”

“Hey, my old house wasn’t even that bad.”

Oh no. She knows she just opened a heated discussion on that one, so she finally puts the car in park and crosses her arms over her chest. Instead of going on about how her Time Magazine collection was older than they were or how she should stop collecting medieval swords (especially after a not so well thought out roleplay scenario that earned Ben twenty stitches on his knee), Ben just grins crookedly at her before tucking a stray piece of curly blond hair behind her ear.

“You’re right,” he says. “But I hate flea markets. They’re very cluttered and pretty disgusting.”

“Flea markets don’t carry fleas, you know?”

He grins again. “Yes, Leslie, I know there aren’t any fleas.” But then he quickly reconsiders, and she watches his face fall. “Wait, actually, we don’t know that for sure. There are lots of weird things in that store, and, quite frankly, I don’t feel comfortable going in there, especially not in these clothes,” he explains, motioning down to his lazy Saturday jeans and flannel.

Leslie smirks. “Then just don’t go in there with any clothes on at all.”

“Yeah, I bet you’d like that,” he smirks back. “But, seriously, do we really need anymore knickknacks? I mean, five dolls from the 1800s stare at me while I sleep every night, and it’s more frightening than anything.”

Leslie gasps. “Don’t ever say that about Margaret, Elizabeth, Clara, Florence, and Gertrude!”

“Really?” he questions. “You want to go in there and, presumably, buy more creepy dolls that watch your beloved husband sleep?”

She leans over, tugging him forward by his red and grey plaid shirt. “I’m going to need this conversation to stop,” she says.

Ben gulps, eyebrows high. “Um, okay? Why?” 

“You’re really turning me on right now,” she tells him, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world (and it totally and definitely is). 

“Me talking about scary ass dolls is turning you on?”

She shakes her head, sealing his lips closed with a kiss. “Stop talking, Benjamin.”

“Of course, m’lady,” he whispers.


	158. "You're bleeding all over my carpet."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from the amazing BenjisCoolTimes.

“Ann, Ben’s dying!” Leslie exclaims the instant they bolt into the ER. Her husband’s limping, and he’s using her as a makeshift crutch as he hisses and winces in her ear. 

Her best friend exits from behind the nurse’s station, and has Leslie mentioned how beautiful she is on this chilly evening? Because she’s always gorgeous, but the lighting in the emergency room makes her hair sparkle and shine. She just loves her best friend in the entire freaking universe Ann Meredith Perkins so much, which is exactly why Leslie chooses her to be Ben’s nurse in this sticky, scary situation. It’s, unfortunately, a very sticky (and gross and bloody) mess.

“What the hell happened?” Ann questions harshly as she immediately forgoes other patients to help Ben on to a gurney behind the white double doors.

Leslie tries not to gag when Ann cuts off Ben’s grey slacks right above the knee. See? It definitely is gross and sticky. Because that gash on his kneecap is still gushing dark crimson, and she clings on to her husband’s elbow as he leans against the fluffy pillows. Woozy. He’s woozy. He doesn’t handle blood well, especially not when it’s coming from his own body. Usually, he can’t even look at the stuff in movies or TV shows, so it’s amazing he’s even conscious. 

“Jesus, you could’ve cut your leg off, Ben!” Ann basically screeches, and Ben flinches.

“Well, my opalescent mermaid, this isn’t exactly his fault… As you know, Christmas is soon…”

“Yes?” her best friend says, wrapping a towel around Ben’s knee while she sets herself up for whatever she’s doing.

Ben jolts when Ann applies extra pressure to his leg, and Leslie quickly grabs his hand, rubbing over his knuckles with her thumb.

“I got him a sword.”

“Actually, Les, you already own, like, eight swords,” Ben tells her through gritted teeth. “This one was just for me, y’know, personally.”

Ann eyes them both. “Personally?”

“Sexually,” Leslie confirms with a nod. 

“Ew, Knope. Ew ew ew,” Ann grimaces. “Do I even wanna know what happened?”

“No!” Ben shouts. “It’s… Well, it’s, um… private?”

Sheepish. He’s acting all sheepish and coy and elusive. 

Damn him. He must be stopped.

Leslie’s in the process of leaning over to kiss his delectable lips when Ann slightly pushes her back into her seat. “Uh uh, you two. Paws off while I try to save your husband’s leg.”

Ben’s eyes instantly widen, and Leslie feels the trembling take over.

“No no no, honey. Your leg’s fine. Right, Ann?”

Ann shakes her head. “You’re gonna need at least twenty stitches, Wyatt. It’s long and nasty.”

“That’s what she said!” Leslie immediately intervenes. “Oops, sorry. Not appropriate for the situation.”

Ben hides his face in his shaky hands. “Yeah, neither is asking me to run into the kitchen to not get blood everywhere.”

“You were bleeding all over my carpet!” she shouts. “It was a serious situation!”

“You guys are a mess. Let’s stop mentioning any form of your sex life because I’m sure I’ll get all the details later, and focus on fixing the leg, okay?”

“Fine,” Leslie sulks. “But don’t you at least wanna hear about the cape I bought him? It looks super sexy.”


	159. "I lost our baby."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from shipsrulemylife.

Listening to his babies’ giggle and shriek is by far the best sound Ben Wyatt’s ever heard.

They’re six months old and as squirmy as ever, and it’s the best. He loves kissing their bellies and holding them when they need extra cuddles. It’s amazing to him that he has three kiddos to love unconditionally, to support and nurture and watch as they grow into regular sized humans. He loves Sonia, Stephen, and Wesley Knope-Wyatt more than anything in the universe.

It’s why he adores the lazy days he and Leslie have off together, the ones where he doesn’t change out of his pajamas and where their strict schedule falls off the map. Tickling and snuggling and rolling around on the carpet with their triple cherries is beyond exciting. Today is one of those rare occasions where he and Leslie aren’t at work at the same time. His wife’s making a late lunch (probably consisting of brownies and brownies alone for them), and he’s sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor, watching as Stephen gnaws on Sonia’s shirt. 

Wesley’s in his lap, wiggling around and chewing on Ben’s fingers. They’re all teething at the exact same time, which means plenty of drool and slobber and crankiness. Yesterday evening, both Stephen and Wesley were practically inconsolable, even with the teething gel he and Leslie placed on their little gums, while Sonia just happily squeaked every few minutes. He’s just happy they’re carefree this afternoon, seemingly without a worry in the world. 

“Ben!” he hears Leslie shout, and he instantly gets to his feet with Wesley still in his arms.

He glances back at Sonia and Stephen, who apparently love tummy time today, before heading into the kitchen.

“What’s up?” he asks, rounding the island to kiss his wife’s cheek.

“I made a grilled cheese that looks like a butterfly!” 

See? This... This is why he loves Leslie Knope to the moon and back. 

She’s so ridiculously adorable, and he has no doubts that their children will grow up to be just like their mom. 

Three miniature versions of Leslie can and will rule the world; he knows that for a fact.

He doesn’t know why he’s feeling so sappy today, but even thinking about his family makes him kind of an emotional wreck, and he’s not afraid to admit it.

“My next one is gonna be a dinosaur,” she beams proudly.

It’s pretty neat. She’s cutting them by hand, and Ben already knows he has no artistic abilities whatsoever.

They chatter for a few minutes before Wesley gets restless and wants to be put down, and Ben goes into the living room.

To find one less baby.

Sonia’s on her back, chewing thoughtfully on her toes with her tiny legs in the air, but Stephen is nowhere to be found. 

His stomach drops, and his heart hammers in his chest.

“Um, uh, honey?” he calls. “I lost our baby.” 

He searches around frantically for Stephen and keeps a careful eye on Sonia in the process. He checks their pillows and inside their mess of blankets and in their toy chest.

“Do you mean this baby?” Leslie questions as she walks over to him with Stephen thankfully nestled in her arms. “We have our first crawler!”

“What?” Ben asks incredulously. “That’s so amazing, Stevie!” 

The baby smiles and laughs, and Ben gently switches babies with Leslie, blowing raspberries on Stephen’s bare tummy.

Crawling.

They have a son that’s crawling.

“They’re only six months,” he says, kissing his bald head. “Isn’t that too early?” 

Leslie shakes her head. “Not for the extraordinary Knope-Wyatt triplets.”


	160. “I’d kill for coffee... literally.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from chocolateheartengineer.

“Nooo...” Leslie whines, curling into the mass of blankets Ben dumped into bed last night. “No, sir. It is absolutely way too cold to be out there.” 

Ben nods and snuggles his face into her neck, tangling their legs together. Because it’s totally not twenty degrees outside, and it’s totally not only fifty-something degrees in their house. Yep. Totally and definitely not. Except it absolutely is, and they’re both freezing their asses off. And, trust him, freezing to death is near the very bottom of his list of how he wants to die, along with being swallowed whole by a snake (hey, it can happen) and being suffocated by an oversized, not so friendly robot.

And, you know, the normal stuff like drowning, being burned alive, etc.

Wait. Why is he thinking about this? He really shouldn’t have let Andy convince him to download Dumb Ways to Die on his iPhone.

But, still, they’re dressed in multiple layers, and not even their thirty-something quilts can help them now. He wants to flee to a hotel or to someone else’s house that has heat, but there’s some kind of outage in Pawnee. So, instead, they’re stuck here in this freezing crap hole of a house. They need better insulation. And roughly eight or nine more electric blankets. Leslie’s currently hogging the only one they own, but that’s okay because she’s beautiful and sweet, and he loves her. 

“Scoot closer,” she commands, and he obliges, wrapping himself completely around her tiny, incredible body. “You need more meat on your bones.”

He chuckles. “Sorry, love.”

“Seriously, Ben. I’m getting you a triple quadruple deluxe from Paunch Burger, and you’re gonna eat every last bite. That way, if this ever happens again, there will be some warmth on you.”

Ben grimaces. “That’s disgusting,” he tells her. Shivers wrack his body as Leslie rubs up and down his arm vigorously. 

“I’d kill for some coffee... literally,” she tells him.

“Oh God, that sounds so amazing.”

“Right?!” She’s quiet for a few moments. “Beeeennnn...”

He shakes his head. “Oh no. Uh uh. I know what you’re doing, Knope, and it’s not gonna work.”

“Pleeeeeease? I’ll love you forever and ever.”

“No way! It’s freezing downstairs! And you should love me ‘forever and ever’ anyway!”

She shrugs. “Fine. I guess the butt boycott begins.”

“I think that’ll hurt you more than it’ll hurt me.” 

“Benjamin, my darling Benjamin, will thou please go maketh your wife some java?” she begs again.

Dammit.

She’s so adorable. He doesn’t know where she gets this ability to sink right into his heart, but she always says the cutest things. Ben might’ve been “Mean Ben” for the twelve years he audited, but he’s had a soft spot for Leslie Knope since he first laid eyes on her. So, really, it’s no surprise when he pulls himself out of bed, wincing as his wool socked feet hit the hardwood floor below.

As he wraps two blankets around his shoulders, Leslie sits up to peck his lips sweetly. “Thank you, King Sexy Butt.”

He kisses the tip of her nose. “You’re welcome, Baby Smurf.”


	161. Ben Hates Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For these: “Do you really need all that candy?” and “Have I mentioned that I fucking hate Halloween?” 
> 
> Prompted by the wonderful chocolateheartengineer.

Madness.

It’s pure madness in this house, and Ben isn’t sure how much longer he can contain himself before he explodes. Wesley screams his head off and refuses to stop. Sonia’s literally butt naked and peeing on their carpet. Stephen’s eating the tiny pieces of lint from the dryer, running around in circles. And Leslie’s... Okay, seriously?

“Do you really need all that candy?” he asks, heading into the kitchen with Wesley clinging mercilessly to him. 

His wife, elegant as ever in her Elsa costume, is literally stuffing her face with miniature Snickers. And Kit Kats. And Almond Joys. He doesn’t know why. But, as cute as it is to see her with chipmunk cheeks and chocolate smudges, he wants to put their twenty-two month old triplets to bed. Ben’s had the pleasure of being up for almost two days straight. Between the Halloween party at City Hall earlier and finishing Trick or Treating a few minutes ago, his nerves scream for him to sit down, crack open a beer, and watch Fringe until he passes out. 

And Wesley’s still shrieking in his ear, no matter how much Ben rubs his back and whispers that everything’s okay. 

“Of course, Ben!” she exclaims. “I’m checking it for the babies.”

Uh huh. Sure.

Ben plops into a chair at the dining table, putting his head in his free hand. Wesley hiccups and scrunches his face. “Have I mentioned that I fucking hate Halloween?”

On cue, Wesley nods.

“What? You love Halloween!” 

Loud. Why is it so loud in this house all the time?

“I really don’t, Les. Everything’s sticky and covered in goop, and the kids get these insane sugar rushes, and you –” He stops himself there.

“Me? What did I do?”

His eyes widen, and he rubs his forehead with two fingers. “Your sugar rushes are unbelievable, Leslie. Seriously unbelievable.”

“Okay, dramatic much? There’s no way they’re that bad.”

“Last year, you begged me to play Naked Twister with you, threw up literally just nougat on my favorite socks, and refused to watch anything but Finding Nemo on a loop.”

She shakes her head. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Well, honey, I can assure you that it was definitely you.” 

Leslie immediately heads over to him, rubbing his shoulders with her magical genie hands. Wesley stands on his knees, so Ben makes sure to keep a good hold on their youngest triple cherry as Stephen and a still very naked Sonia bound in. Sonia clings to Ben’s Kylo Ren costume, while Stephen heads right for the giant candy bowl, despite the fact that he can’t reach it. 

He exhales. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be cranky. I’m just tired.”

His wife kneads the flesh around his shoulders even more, and he sighs contently. “How about we get these monsters to bed, and then we cuddle the rest of the night? No Twister. No shenanigans.” 

“I don’t want to ruin your Halloween,” he tells her.

Leslie kisses the back of his head. “You’re not ruining anything, Ben.”

He nods, and Wesley kisses his cheek.

Maybe Halloween isn’t so bad after all.


	162. “Put this in your pants right now before they see!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble prompt from the lovely Nutriyum_Addict.

“Okay, they’re all aslee–” 

But then she stops right there because no way. Nope. Absolutely not. 

It’s Friday, which means it’s movie and cookie night here in the Knope-Wyatt household for the parents, but one half of their said parenting force is obstructing justice. Ben’s curled into his pillows, hand smushed beneath his cheek as he snores quietly. His hair’s all over the place, and the cookies are clearly long forgotten about, having taken residency on Ben’s bedside table. 

Dammit to fudge.

Leslie sighs and contemplates very briefly between snuggling up with her husband to get an early night’s rest and watching the movie downstairs when she decides to jump on to the mattress instead. Because... Why not? He’s her husband, and husbands get startled awake like this sometimes, especially husbands who fall asleep and ignore movie and cookie night. All she wants to do is relax and have some down time with him before their five year old triplets wake back up decide they need water and more stories and a puppy, but Ben clearly has other ideas. 

Ben jolts and sharply inhales when she accidentally pounces on his shin.

“Nooooo....” he whines, tugging the comforter over his face and effectively hiding his brownie eyes.

Mmm... Brownies. Maybe this should be movie and cookie and brownie night?

“Honey,” she coaxes. She shakes his shoulder roughly because cuddling right now will totally send him straight back to sleep, and kissing him will make her feel these thumping thingies in her chest. While she wants that at the moment, she’d rather just hold hands and watch The Princess Bride. But nope. Ben’s being complicated and exhausted and a collection of lots of other problems that don’t equal cookies and The Princess Bride. “Please wake up.”

“How much trouble do I get in if I say ‘no?’” he grumbles.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s only an hour and 38 minutes!” 

Ben uncovers himself and glares. “Can we watch Star Wars instead?” 

“That’s at least two hours long! What is wrong with you?”

“It’s two hours and one minute,” he says precisely because he’s a numbers robot.

“Beeeeennnnn.”

He shakes his head. “Fine. Princess Bride it is.”

She smiles, kissing his delicate lips and smoothing back his wild hair from his forehead before settling down beside him. Ben grabs the remote and the plate of chocolate chip cookies and starts the movie on Netflix (apparently, now, he’s too tired to utilize the Blu-Ray copy they just bought). But she guesses she can forgive him because this is the thirty-fourth time they’ve watched this film together. 

Before she even knows it, they’re halfway through the movie, Leslie’s eaten six (no, wait, seven) cookies, and Ben’s dozed off against her breasts. The plate with three baked goods left is somehow haphazardly still in his covered lap, and she has to turn up the volume on the TV because Ben’s snoring is that deafening. How do such weird, loud sounds come out of her adorably tiny, elfish husband? 

It’s only a couple minutes after she turns up the movie that she hears the pitter patter of three sets of footsteps heading toward their room.

“Crap!” she exclaims, and Ben jumps, looking at her with glassy eyes. “Cookies! They smelled the cookies!”

“What?” Ben asks dumbly.

“The monsters. They smelled the cookies. Quick, put this your pants right now before they see!” 

His eyebrows furrow, and the footsteps grow closer. “You want me to shove an entire plate of cookies down my pants?”

“Yes, Benjamin!” she says frantically, lifting up their comforter and the elastic of his sweatpants before sliding the plate down near his groin.

Their door cracks open, revealing three hungry looking five year olds.

But there aren’t any cookies here. No, sir.

“They probably woke up because the TV’s ridiculously loud,” Ben whispers, reclining back against the assortment of fluffy pillows, even with everything going on in his downstairs. 

Their three monster kindergarteners hop into bed with them. Stephen’s chatting away as Sonia nestles herself on to Leslie’s lap. Wesley opts to sit on Ben’s instead. 

Except that’s clearly an issue.

“Daddy?” Wesley questions.

“Good lord, this is so awkward,” her husband says. He maneuvers their youngest son very swiftly and quickly pulls out the three remaining cookies, handing them to their eager children.


	163. Ben Gets The Flu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first The Space Between drabble, so I guess that's kind of exciting. This takes place right after Ben's first encounter with Maggie since the divorce (so in the December section of chapters two and three). The prompts from the wonderful SakuraBlossomStorm are: "Just can't shake that cough, huh? / Put your arm around my... Or just fall on me. / That works too. You wanna walk by yourself? Alright, let's see that. / Mm... I don't think it's just the sniffles this time."

It’s been four days.

Four days since he didn’t stand up for Leslie. Four days since he became a spineless, bumbling, idiotic jellyfish that screwed everything up. Four days since he lost every ounce of his pride after a brief encounter with the venomous snake that is his ex-wife.

Leslie deserves so much more than him. So much better than him.

There’s less than a week until Christmas, and, now, his mind is too preoccupied with the familiar sense of impending doom to focus on the holidays. He’s still not over what happened, even though he and Leslie had a long talk about him opening up more and channeling his feelings in a more productive way than just shutting down altogether.

She understands. She always has.

That’s what makes this so much harder. Ben wants to be the best man possible for her, to treat her with the upmost respect and loyalty. But he fucked up and didn’t speak his mind. He didn’t tell Maggie to stay away from him for their rest of their lives because that would be easier than facing her again. He didn’t say or do anything to help the situation.

But Leslie... She’s so perfect and willing to make everything better. She wants to help him through this, not just toss him aside like he means nothing. After Ice Town, his family abandoned him. After his divorce, his friends abandoned him too. But Leslie isn’t like anyone he’s ever met. She cares. She’s passionate and fiery and bubbly. She’s the sunlight to his damp, dreary corner in some rundown supermarket because supermarkets are gross and weird, and they actually kind of scare him. She’s the other half of his heart.

He should be wrapping her presents or writing in her card in the privacy of their bedroom or baking pies with her, but he isn’t. He’s slumped against the couch, his chin tucked to his chest with his arms crossed, coughing every now and then. Leslie busies herself in the kitchen, stopping occasionally to invite him to help. He declines mostly because his back hurts, but he also feels like she doesn’t truly want him in there.

See. More brooding. Could he be any more pathetic?

Instead, Ben listens to the six o’clock news while staring at the littered hardwood floor. He counts the Legos scattered around his socked feet a billion times just to keep him sane. His brain steadily turns mushy, and he finds himself yawning over and over again. Ben’s eyes slowly start to slip closed. He’s dozing off when he feels Leslie’s hand on his thigh.

“Come on, sleepyhead. Help me cook dinner,” she says excitedly. She’s forever excited by the small things in life. He grows more envious of that trait everyday.

He should spring into action, but he doesn’t. His body is nothing but an unwelcomed sense of tenderness, like he’d shatter into a thousand tiny, insignificant pieces if he moves. Ben sighs and squishes himself further into the corner of the couch, wanting nothing more than to disappear.

“Ben? Hey,” she coaxes. She runs her fingers through his hair, and he coughs. “Just can’t shake that cough, huh?”

His eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been coughing like crazy the past couple days.”

He shrugs. He’s noticed, but not enough to actually care about it. “I’m okay,” he reassures.

“Are you sure?”

Ben nods, and it’s dropped after that.

~

He wakes up the next morning with a stuffy nose, sore throat, and an aching chest. It’s not exactly ideal by any means, but there are only five days until Christmas, so the show must go on.

Ben kicks the comforter away, rubbing his bleary eyes and stretching his knotted muscles. But then he instantly wants nothing more than to be surrounded by warmth. The second he tries to pull himself into a sitting position, he barks wetly, curling into a loose ball on his side as he reaches out for the tissues on his bedside table. Okay. No. He feels robot-ish and off, but it isn’t bad. It totally isn’t bad. In fact, it’s probably just a manifestation of his guilt for letting Leslie down. Yeah. He isn’t sick. And he definitely isn’t about ready to ruin their holiday.

He tries to sit up again and succeeds, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. The room sways, and everything is very tilty, but it’s all goody goody. He buries his head in his hands and coughs, listening to his heart drown in disgusting crap. No. No no no.

“Good morning, babe,” he hears. Leslie’s voice is so pretty and sweet.

“Morning,” he says. He frowns when he realizes he kind of sounds like a chain-smoker.

“Ben, why don’t you lay back down? You look miserable. Like a lackluster starfish.”

“Lackluster starfish?” he questions.

“You’ve never met a starfish with no enthusiasm or ‘umph?’ You need to go to the aquarium more often, Wyatt. You’d love it there.” She tells him this while tucking him in, fluffing his pillows and kissing his forehead. "You're really warm." 

Ben soaks in her touch; he always does. He loves the lingering, never ending pecks on the cheek. He loves how perfectly her hand fits in his. He loves her fingers running through his hair, calming his nerves effortlessly. She still has the back of her hand resting against his cheek when he coughs again. 

"It's just a cold," he tells her, even though he isn't so sure. Regardless, though, he doesn't try to get back up. 

She shakes her head. "Mm... I don't think it's just the sniffles this time." She glances at the clock. "Crap on a cracker. I'm gonna get you some medicine, and then I have to go. Are you gonna be alright here today by yourself?" 

He nods. "I'll be fine, Les."

Leslie doses him with NyQuil, gives him several kisses not on his lips that still somehow leave him breathless, and leaves.

~

It’s almost five in the evening when he wakes up for real. He napped all day, and, while he doesn’t feel much better, he needs to move around a bit. Card. He should focus on Leslie’s card. There isn’t much time until she gets home, but he needs something to keep his mind occupied. His brain fuzzy and groggy, he shakily fishes through his sock drawer and pulls out the card covered in glitter with his own makeshift pages stuck in the middle to add more room for him to express himself to her as much as he wants. 

He contemplates grabbing a hardcover book and plopping back in bed to write, but he’d just fall asleep and dream of mutant goats or rabid SpongeBob again (blame the NyQuil; he’s been chased by squids more than once in the last few hours). Ben heads to their shared office down the hall instead. His flannel pajama pants and grey hoodie do nothing to combat against the freezing winter temperatures, and he’s basically a shivering, snotty mess by the time he eases his sore body into the rolling chair. He breathes heavily and anxiously checks his surroundings for unknown variables before picking up a blue pen.

Ben’s hand shakes. Sweat drips into his eyes. Hot flash. Is he seriously having a hot flash right now? But he guesses he is because the room spins, and he fans himself with a random stuffed dinosaur he finds in the corner of the desk where, apparently, Leslie keeps a mini plush animal collection. Good lord, she’s such an amazing woman. So talented and smart and sweet.

He coughs, and the walls close in on him. He should leave. Yeah yeah yeah. He should go back to bed. 

And he swears he’s almost standing when the door creaks open.

He flinches and jolts.

A blond, immensely beautiful swirly thingy enters the office, and he blinks blearily.

“Ben! What’re you doing out of bed?” 

Leslie. His Leslie. Such a pretty Leslie.

It’s hot in here. Has he mentioned that?

Instead of answering, Ben squishes the side of his face into her stomach, and she kneads the tender flesh around his spine.

“Okay,” she says. “You’re burning up. Let’s go.”

She pulls away, and he sticks his bottom lip out. He shakes his head when she holds out her hand. “Can do it by m’self,” he tells her.

“You wanna walk by yourself? Alright, let’s see that.”

He narrows his eyes and focuses on steadying his feet and not falling.

Except he face plants right into Leslie’s boobs. 

She has such niiiiiiiiice boobs.

“Ben, put your arm around my –” she commands, but he just flops around like a fish out of water again. “Or just fall on me. That works too.”

Somehow, she drags him to their bedroom. He doesn’t know how she does it. She’s the strongest person he’s ever met. 

He grumbles when she forces more medicine down his sore throat, but then he grins brightly when she lies down right beside him. She hooks her leg around his and cards her fingers through his hair. She chatters softly about her day and rubs his back when another round of coughing starts. She’s everything he’s ever wanted. She means more than anything to him. 

“’m sorry for letting you down the other day,” he whispers in the darkness long after she goes quiet. “’m a big jerk face.”

“You’re not a jerk face, babe. And you don’t have to apologize anymore. Let’s just focus on moving forward, okay?”

He nods. “I love you,” he tells her. 

She kisses his hair. “I love you too, Ben. Get some rest.”

Entangled in her warmth and affection, his eyes droop closed.


	164. Roommates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU prompt from BenjisCoolTimes.

Ben is drifting off, watching behind the scenes clips from last night’s Survivor with the iPad on his chest, when he hears the screech.

It’s shrill and abrasive, just enough for him to jolt and roll out of bed, struggling to untangle himself from his sheets. He yanks open his bedroom door and sprints down the hall, hoping not to slide into the wall again in his Batman socks. His heart pounds relentlessly as he sweat starts to form in his hairline. Leslie. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Ben asks quickly. He gulps when he sees the mess. Chocolate batter coats the kitchen tile, the mixing bowl long forgotten in the corner near the fake ficus Leslie needed to spice the place up a bit. He rubs his forehead, stomaching churning slightly because chaos and disorganization always push him into overdrive, the disarray of it all overwhelming his senses. But none of that matters, especially when he spies the tears swelling in Leslie’s beautiful blue eyes. They remind him of the ocean, serene and never-ending. 

Wait. No. Not beautiful. They’re okay eyes. 

Leslie’s coated in chocolate. It’s in her hair, on her leggings, and splattered on her flannel.

But it isn’t her flannel; it’s his. Maybe she just got their laundry mixed up again.

He pushes away how cute she looks in it and focuses on taking care of her.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, kneeling down beside her on the ground, where she’s sank against the cabinets. He softly wipes off the smudges on her cheeks with a wet rag. But Leslie’s eyes are clouded and glazed. This isn’t her. She’s usually bubbling with excitement. Mistakes and messes mean nothing to her. She lives for long nights doing paperwork and candy binges and movie marathons. 

She’s lived with him for five months. He knows her footsteps and her laughs and her whispers. He knows how soft her hands are and how perfectly her tiny palm fits in his. And Ben wonders if this is because of her new job at the Pawnee Parks Department or if her mom’s alright or if something horrible happened to that pony Li’l Sebastian. 

“Leslie, you gotta talk to me.” 

She inhales shakily and glances at her hands in her lap. “Dave... Um, he... broke up with me?” She says it like it’s a question, but it’s definitely not. “And the mixer wasn’t screwed on right, and it... sploosh...” she trails off, gesturing slowly around her. 

Leslie met Dave at the last college party of the year. Ben was at that party too. He never took a liking to Dave, since he was kind of a jerk. Ben spent so much time protecting and having fun with Leslie that he’d forgotten that they weren’t actually dating. It caused him to lash out and act like a childish jerk, and it caused her to stop speaking to him until graduation day. And, now, they’re twenty-three and still baby-faced and trying to navigate the world together as roommates. 

She’s always the strong one, and Ben’s just... Well, he’s Ben. 

He instantly wraps Leslie up in his arms, and she hides her face in his neck. He frowns when tears slide down his skin. And he holds her. He holds her like she’s the only person in the world. He holds her like these are their last moments together. He holds her with everything he has.

They sit here like this until Leslie’s cries disappear, and she falls asleep in his embrace. 

Ben cleans her up, takes her to bed, and bundles her in blankets, whispering that he’ll make waffles in the morning before clicking the door closed.


	165. Lab Partners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another AU prompt from the lovely BenjisCoolTimes.

“Get out of my seat, Wyatt,” Leslie demands, plopping her books on the table. “You sit over there, remember?” 

He smirks. “No can do, Knope. I’m your lab partner for the day.”

Leslie’s face falls. Fudge. Fudge on a freaking cracker. Ooh, that actually doesn’t sound that bad! But that’s beside the point. The point is that Ben’s a stupid poop face, and he makes her skin crawl. Literally crawl. It can’t remain still for even three seconds when she’s around him because he’s the world’s most awful human being. After losing to him for Class President this year, she literally wants nothing to do with him. If she could never see him again, that’d be great.

“What happened to Andy?” she questions harshly. She refuses to sit down, even though the bell just rang.

Ben shrugs, tapping his pencil on his lab notebook. “I guess he... sorta got his head stuck in a pumpkin or something?”

She blinks. “It’s March.”

He nods, and has his smile always looked like that? “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Miss Knope,” Mr. Davidson calls. Leslie turns around sheepishly. “Take your seat.”

“But –” she tries to interject. She has a binder for this somewhere. A binder for when Ben Wyatt speaks to her or they get paired together for projects because it’s bound to happen. They’re both honors students, in the same grade, and share six out of eight classes together, and it bites her in the butt more and more every single day. No. Every single hour of every single day. 

Mr. Davidson sighs. “I don’t have time for another filibuster today, Leslie.” 

Leslie groans and complies. Her elbow accidentally touches Ben’s, and she hisses. Is he a vampire or something?

“I’m not that bad,” Ben reassures, as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “I already did my half of the write up and everything. We just have to do the experiment.”

She eyes him. “Um, you’re the worst, okay? No one even wants you here.”

He holds his hands up in the air innocently. “Wow. Okay. My bad. We’ll just do this in silence then.”

And that’s what they do. Ben measures everything out meticulously, taking notes as Leslie mixes. He calculates the equations as she watches the liquids begin to bubble. He shares his work with her wordlessly, and she does the same.

“You’re a jerk,” she tells him after twenty minutes of everything being way too quiet for her. Sure, the students around them are acting like hyperactive chimpanzees, but Leslie doesn’t have it in her to be still and hushed for this long. 

“You may’ve mentioned that already. Anything else?”

She scoffs. “How did you beat me for Class President? Did you cheat?”

“Nope,” he says. “Just gave the voters what they wanted.”

“And let me guess: They wanted a vending machine and less classes and the fruit punch in the water fountain to be replaced with actual water?”

He glances over at her with his eyebrows furrowed. “Sore loser much?”

“I’m not a sore loser, Benjamin!” she screeches. “I’m super chill all the time!”

He snorts. “Sure, Knope. Sure.”

Leslie crosses her arms over her chest while Ben digs back into the equations. She watches him fill in numbers and add them to his lab notebook. Stupid. He’s so stupid. How did a jerk like him even come to exist in the first place?

Mr. Davidson announces there are only five minutes of class left, and she packs up her stuff while Ben zips his backpack. 

“I am sorry, you know,” he tells her. “I really did think you’d win.”

She scrunches her nose. “Really?”

He nods. “Your idea to host bake sales once a month for the homeless was awesome.”

She smiles and shoulders her overstuffed bag. “Thanks.”


	166. Meeting in the ER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU prompt from PawneeWafflesBen.

She's impatiently flipping through a magazine when warm, clammy fingers tangle themselves in hers.

Leslie flinches and tries to pull away, but the soft grasp tightens slightly, and she glances to her right, her nose scrunched and eyebrows furrowed. Beside her is a guy with dark scruff and messy hair and... snot bubbles trying to escape from his oddly cute face parts. Okay. Ew. She's already waiting in the emergency room for her beautiful sunfish Ann Meredith Perkins to finish her shift, and the last thing she needs to catch right now is the flu. She has things to do, places to see, and the world to conquer.

"Uh-uh. Leave the nice lady alone, Benji," she hears, but their fingers remain entwined regardless.

She has to admit it isn't the most unpleasant sensation in the world.

"But she's very pretty..." he slurs, unconsciously rubbing over her knuckles with his thumb.

There's another guy sitting next to Benji. His arm is wrapped around Benji's shoulders, seeming to firmly ground him in place because, if he were to let go, maybe he'd wander into a thorn bush or get attacked by raccoons or drown in the puddles of cola practically surrounding the hospital. His hair is dark and parted neatly, unlike his comrade's, whose hair seems to both defy gravity and stick against his forehead at the same time. The other one is not as cute as Benji.

Wait. He's not cute. She doesn't know him, even though he totally grabbed her hand without a second thought and called her pretty.

"Sorry, miss," the other guy says. "Let her have her hand back, dude."

Benji shakes his head, licking his chapped lips. His eyes are brownie-like, all warm and deep and gooey; they give her butterflies. But they're super duper bloodshot, and she frowns.

"No, it's okay," she says quickly. "He seems pretty out of it. He's not bothering me."

"Well, you lucked out, buddy. Looks like you've met the coolest gal in this joint," he informs Benji, who continues holding her hand. He yawns and leans the back of his head into his friend's shoulder. "Henry," the man introduces. "And this feverish mess is my baby brother Ben. I'd shake your hand, but this guy's already got that part covered."

She grins. "Leslie. Leslie Knope, Deputy Director of the Parks and Recreation of Pawnee."

Leslie instantly blushes and feels like an idiot, but Ben just giggles and says, "I love parks... and recreation. They're both great."

"Okay," Henry says, maneuvering Ben to where he's barely sitting up on his own. "That's it. I'm gonna see how much longer we have to wait for your ass to get admitted."

But Ben jolts at that, and Leslie swears she sees tears swell in his eyes. "Henry..." he whines.

And, before she even registers what's happening, Leslie starts talking. "Go. I'll watch him and make sure he doesn't wander into traffic."

Henry grins. "You are the best, Leslie. Flick him in the nose if he gets too handsy."

Ben's older brother leaves, striding off to the front desk with this air of confidence that almost makes Leslie jealous. But no. She's Leslie, and she's forever one with her amazing abilities. Her list of talents include paperwork, all nighters, turning an hour drive into 35 minutes, and making the best toffee surprise popcorn in the universe. No. The galaxy. The best toffee surprise popcorn in the galaxy.

"You really are very beautiful," Ben whispers.

She smiles. "You sure that's not your delirium talking?"

He shakes his head rapidly. "Nooope. Haha. Nope. Like Knope. Like your name," he chuckles to himself, and now she really does wonder when he'll be seen by a doctor because he's loopy as a raccoon that just snorted a bunch of Fun Dip (don't ask).

"Can I get you anything? Water or a some Tylenol?"

"No. 'm good here, snuggle bug," he whispers.

And then, suddenly, Ben's head is on her shoulder. Her insides heat up, and she most definitely shouldn't be feeling this way about a sick, goofy, handsome guy.

But she doesn't say a word.

Instead, she curls their fingers together even more, giving his hand a gently squeeze.


	167. Meeting at a Party Whilst Drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another AU prompt from PawneeWafflesBen.

It's cold.

He can see his breath trailing off into the night, fading in the distance, like he never even existed. Which, by the way, would be helpful right about now.

Ben doesn't even know why he's here. It's some stupid end if the semester party this guy Tom's hosting. He doesn't know Tom, but Chris, his roommate, yanked him out of bed, forced him to put on actual clothes instead of just pajamas, made him drink an herbal smoothie, and peer pressured the fuck out of him before he gave in and agreed to come. But Ben doesn't feel like freezing his ass off. And he certainly doesn't want to feel empty anymore; the five beers swirling around in his body do nothing to lift his spirits.

He inhales another drag of his cigarette. The nicotine slices through him, piecing him back together before his mind realizes he isn't in the safety of his bed. He has nowhere to hide. He can't hide behind books or movies or lame jokes that he's okay when his insides feel as if they're rotting. His mind spins, and he's dizzy, and he can't tell if that's because of the beer or the leftover affects of this afternoon's panic attack.

Because he totally isn't failing two classes, and he totally isn't going to bomb his finals.

"What're you doing out here? It's really cold."

Ben jumps, nearly dropping the cigarette from his loose grasp. He turns around to see a lady wearing reindeer leggings, a light up Christmas sweater, and a Santa's hat. Her blond curls lay perfectly over her shoulders. She isn't wearing a coat, and Ben tries to pretend his first instinct isn't to wrap her up in his.

He shrugs, but doesn't say anything. Instead, he gestures to the cigarette before stubbing it out and flicking it off the deck railing.

"A smoker and a litter bug?" she questions. "And here I think you were cute."

Ben frowns, and is she disappointed in him?

Wait. Why does he care if she's disappointed in him?

But she is cute. Like a beautiful butterfly.

And that's exactly what he tells her.

Her giggle brings air back into his hollow lungs.

"I'm Ben," he says, extending his gloved hand.

"Leslie," she introduces. "Leslie Knope."

It's silent for a few minutes. Leslie comes and stands by his side, and she's so tiny. Like super super super tiny. The top of her head doesn't even reach his shoulders, and he's always been told he's a runty, small guy too. He lights another cigarette and stares off into the distance, even though every fiber of his being wants to escape forever.

"Do you wanna get out of here?" Leslie asks. "I've got Jenga in my car."

His eyebrows furrow. "Jenga?"

"Yeah! Do you not know what Jenga is?"

"Umm... I do..." He trails off because he isn't sure what to say next.

"I wanna make out with your face parts. You know, put your lips on mine and stuff," she slurs. "Shit. I'm sorry. You're too handsome not to have a girlfriend. Forget I said anything."

She turns around to leave. Ben grabs her arm gently, even though he's sure this conversation is giving him whiplash. "No. Wait. Don't go," he whispers. "You're gorgeous, Leslie."

Her hands are small in his, but her energy and passion and enthusiasm reverberates though his soul.

Ben quickly removes his blue coat, wrapping it around her shoulders to stop her shivers.

"I'm drunk," he tells her.

She nods. "Me too," she says. "Ann abandoned me for some blue haired guy with one testacle guy because she's experimenting and whatnot. She wants me to get laid. My boyfr - ex boyfriend broke up with me on Halloween."

"My roommate dragged me here because I hadn't gotten out of bed in four days. I'm about to fail Philosophy and English."

She blinks. "I'm great at English."

And he has no doubts she is. She seems like the type of person that everything comes natural to.

"Do you wanna go -"

But Leslie's lips are already on his before he has the chance to finish.


	168. Pretending to Hate Each Other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another AU prompt from the wonderful PawneeWafflesBen.

"Ben? Like as in Ben 'Turd Boy' Wyatt? No. No way!" Leslie exclaims. "He's terrible face-wise, and he's got a weird butt. Plus, his hair makes zero sense, Ann. Zero."

But Ann just smiles regardless. Crap on a fudgsicle. Is Ann on to her? "Sure, Knope. That's why Chris told me he caught you guys making out at the track this morning. Tongue and everything."

Leslie's eyebrows furrow. "I've never made out with anyone in my life, good sir!"

"You know it's okay that you like him, right?" Ann says.

She shakes her head. "But I don't like him, Ann! In fact, I loathe him and his stupid 29 inch waist and tiny hands."

"We graduate in two months, Les. You guys have been fighting this since, like, freshman year. Just kiss him in front of everyone already."

Leslie rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. She's trying to eat her extra cheesy pizza in peace, but, apparently, that's illegal in this stupid school. She just wants to eat her stupid lunch and not think about stupid Ben anymore.

But that's really hard to do when he keeps grinning crookedly at her from three tables over. He's sitting with Chris and Andy and other guys on the baseball team. Mmm... Baseball. He's such a cute shortstop with his uniform and hat. She bites her lower lip and focused on the task at hand instead.

She has to keep pretending. Because the Leslie Knope's and Ben Wyatt's of the world don't get along. They despise each other. They have since second grade when dumb Ben moved to Pawnee and corrected her spelling. Twice.

"I don't like him, Ann," she reassures. Every fiber in her being protests, but she says it anyway.

She chows down the rest of her pizza before dumping it in the trashcan.

"Wanna go make out in Mrs. Weston's class?" Ben whispers. He's throwing away his sack lunch too.

She nods. "Of course. Meet me there in two minutes. Don't follow me," she says.

"See you there, m'lady."


	169. Two Miserable People at a Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU prompt from SakuraBlossomStorm.

He almost doesn’t come.

But then he realizes he’ll just be a pessimistic, hot turd on the mid July pavement if he doesn’t show up. 

Chris is his friend, and Ben kind of is the best man, after all. 

Thankfully, though, the ceremony is over, and he’s left to wallow at a seaside themed table alone. He chugs three beers and shakes his head like a dog drying off from an unexpected bath, trying to find a way to make it through the next four hours without combusting. Because it’s hot, and who gets married in July anyway? Robots? 

Ben loosens his bowtie and unbuttons the first two notches on his shirt; he removed his suit jacket the minute Ann and Chris were out of sight, sighing and rolling up his sleeves before heading to the open bar. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling so down today. Probably because he’s thirty-four, and finding true love seems nearly impossible at this point.

He hasn’t gotten laid in eight months. It’s been the longest eight months of his life. 

Ben is downing his fourth beer when Leslie Knope sits at the otherwise empty table. Everyone else is off dancing and eating and laughing. There’s no reason to want to sit down, but Ben’s legs shake, and he can’t stop bouncing his heel up and down on the too green grass. 

He almost strikes up an actual conversation, a characteristic he isn’t overly fond of nor that good at, when he notices the tears streaming down Leslie’s cheeks.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly. He’s known Leslie for a while. Chris and Ann met their sophomore of college, and the four of them have been friends (and often something more) for over a decade. And Leslie isn’t usually like this. Her pretty blue eyes aren’t usually filled with doubt and uncertainty. Her gorgeous curls aren’t usually deflated. And her spirit, her overwhelming passion for all things life has to offer, isn’t usually depleted.

She shrugs, wiping at the tears. “I’m just sad,” she whispers. “Ann’s married, and now we’ll drift apart, and she won’t wanna be best friends anymore.”

Right away, Ben knows that’s ridiculous. Ann and Leslie have been the “bestest of best friends in the galaxy” since third grade. They have friend-ular holidays everyday of the year, and they share every part of their lives together. There is no stronger bond than that between Leslie Knope and Ann Perkins; Ben’s known that for ages now.

“Hey,” he whispers, nudging her gently with his elbow. “You know that’s not true.”

She frowns. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

He shrugs. “Can’t a guy be nice to his friend?”

Leslie shakes her head. “You’re always kinda... weird around me ever since... you know...” 

And there it is. That sinking feeling quickly takes over his nerves, leaving him breathless and trembling and aching for her. Ben aches for her touch, her laugh, her presence every single day. He goes to bed thinking of her. His first thoughts when he wakes up are about her. About her smile and how much she loves waffles and how she’ll definitely be President someday. 

“That was a long time ago.”

It wasn’t. 

Three years isn’t enough to get over Leslie Knope.

“You don’t have to comfort me, you know,” she tells him.

He grins a tiny bit. “I know,” he says. “But I want to. What’re you drinking? I’ll go get you another.” 

“The strongest alcohol you can find.”

Ben nods. “As you wish.”

And Leslie’s smile lights up his world, just like it always has.


	170. Boss/Intern AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another AU prompt from the amazing SakuraBlossomStorm.

He’s here.

The new intern is here, and he looks all of twelve years old with unruly dark hair that refuses to be tamed with any kind of product. He’s clean-shaven today, especially after their impromptu post-meeting... meeting. He’s wearing a suit that looks slightly too big for him. And why do they hire twelve year olds again? Because that certainly isn’t okay. Twelve is way too young to be assisting in the political campaign of the century.

Except he isn’t twelve. He’s twenty-two and freaking baby-faced, and she finds herself yearning to be with him constantly. Ever since their make out session in Councilman Chambers office three weeks ago, she thinks of his touch constantly. But he’s young. He’s so young. She turns thirty in seven months and most definitely shouldn’t be thinking of a stupid intern this way.

But Ben isn’t like April or Andy or even Tom. Ben is smart. Ben has a good head on his shoulders. Ben has a moral compass and wit and can hold his own. Plus, Ben has a really nice (great; terrific even) butt. She wants to run her fingers through that idiotic hair and feel his lips against hers and forever live in the moments where he touches her. Ben is so much different than anyone she’s ever met in her lifetime, but it can’t happen.

It shouldn’t happen. 

She’s the campaign manager, and he’s just some lowly intern. 

Leslie’s in the middle of talking to Councilman Chambers when Ben enters the room with a crooked grin. He waves sheepishly at her before grabbing a cup of coffee. He doesn’t make eye contact after that and leaves. She watches as he sips his java, chatting with Tom, probably about Star Wars or break evens or something equally nerdy that just screams Ben Wyatt.

But Leslie can’t concentrate, not when Ben’s around. She’s been finding it more and more difficult to pretend. She knows she shouldn’t be interested in a guy fresh from college, a guy who’s nearly a decade younger than her. Like, crap on a cracker, he just graduated with his bachelor’s in accounting a month and a half ago. 

Ann. She needs Ann.

Except Ann doesn’t even know she’s been sleeping with an intern. She doesn’t know Ben’s spent the night and made her waffles the next morning and holds her when she has a rough day. She doesn’t know Ben actually loves watching History Channel documentaries with her or that he’s a dumb numbers robot who can do massive calculations in his head. She’s never been that great at math, but Ben’s so amazing at it. Ben’s pretty amazing at everything actually. 

“Whiz palace!” she exclaims as Councilman Chambers goes over the latest polling numbers with her. “I need to use the whiz palace.”

She straightens out her blouse and blazer and nods politely before escaping that terrible room.

Leslie taps Ben’s shoulder and whispers, “Meet me in room 23 in five minutes.” She practically runs away after that.

She uses the restroom because she genuinely does have to go and waits in room 23 for what seems like a lifetime. She glances at her watch and sighs and tucks her hair behind her ears and reads the motivational posters on the walls and scans through a leftover magazine on one of the desks. She swears her heart is about to explode from anticipation. Because they haven’t touched each other in almost two days now since everything’s been so busy, and that just isn’t okay. 

“Hey,” Ben says, closing the door behind him quickly. “Sorry, I got held up at –”

But he doesn’t finish. Leslie’s lips are on his in an instant. 

She can finally breathe again.


End file.
